Coming Home
by write2like
Summary: This story follows Unleashed (Season 8, ep. 24), so if you haven't seen that episode, this story contains SPOILERS. Thanks to CBS and Shane Brennan for allowing fans to use their creation.
1. Chapter 1

I like to write stories that follow the series (I'm going to try some pre-series stories later this year), so this story opens after **_Unleashed_** (if you haven't seen it, this story contains **SPOILERS** ). I'm grateful that CBS and Shane allow writers to use their creations for new stories. Only the story and new characters are mine; the NCIS characters belong to CBS and Shane.

When Sam entered OSP, it was late afternoon and the building was eerily quiet, the only sound being footsteps of personnel and the soft persistent hum of the computer stations scattered throughout the building. He dropped his duffle bag at his desk and paused for just a moment before walking to see Hetty. Henrietta Lange, the OSP operations manager, was at her desk reviewing several files while sipping her pai mu tan tea. As Sam approached, she looked up and put aside the files and then motioned for him to take a seat in the chair facing her. Sam settled in without a word. Hetty paused a moment before speaking. It had been almost two months since Sam's wife, Michelle, had been killed by Tahir Khaled who, in turn, had been killed by Sam.

"How are you, Sam?" Hetty asked quietly.

Sam hesitated a moment and then looked at her with an expression of determined resignation. "I'm doing better, Hetty."

"You've been missed very much, Mr. Hanna" she said with a bluntness that was tempered by gentleness. "And your children, Kam and Aiden? How are they doing?"

Sam rubbed his palms together and then interlaced his fingers. "They're doing better, too. Being able to spend time with them helped. It helped them, and me, begin to deal with everything. Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me, Mr. Hanna. Allowing you time to be with your children was the least we could do."

"All the same."

"If you find that you need more time for any reason, Mr. Hanna, let me know. We will cover it."

"Thank you, Hetty, but with both Kam and Aiden in school again, I don't foresee a need to take more time . . . at least, not in the near future."

"Still, if you have a need, let me know."

"I will."

There was a brief pause before Hetty spoke again. "You know that you must be evaluated before you can resume active duty, Sam." Sam merely nodded in the affirmative. "Nate can be here tomorrow and evaluate you in the morning. Until that's been completed, you won't be able to assist in any active cases, but you're welcome to remain here as long as you like. I know that Mr. Callen and everyone on the team will be happy to see you."

"It'll be good to see them, too."

"Have you spoken with Mr. Callen yet?"

"Yea. I called him when I got back in town two days ago, but I haven't seen him yet."

"Well, then, I think it would be nice if you stayed at least so that he can welcome you back in person."

"Is there a case?"

"Yes. A naval recruiting officer was murdered this afternoon as he was leaving a naval recruiting station. I'm sure they'll be grateful to have your assistance again."

Sam smiled slightly, "Unless I'm rusty."

"Even with a little rust, you are a valuable asset."

Sam rose from the chair and nodded to Hetty before heading back to his desk. He didn't feel like tackling any paperwork, so he took his service weapon and his backup weapon and headed to the armory. This would be as good a time as any to clean them since he might be putting them to use tomorrow.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Callen and Anna descended from Ops and were on their way out the building when Callen spotted Sam's duffle. "I'll be out in a minute," Callen said and then made his way to Hetty's desk. Anna continued outside. He stopped in front of Hetty. "Sam's back?"

"Yes, he is, but he's not back in the field until his evaluation."

"Where is he?"

"I believe he took his service weapons to the armory."

Before she had even finished, Callen was on his way to the armory. He stopped just outside the door. Callen knew Sam still needed space, and he wanted to make sure that Sam knew that he wasn't trying to crowd him, but Callen also wanted to be sure that Sam knew that when he didn't need so much space and needed someone to be there for him, he was always ready. Callen stepped through the door.

Sam looked up from cleaning his backup weapon. Callen stopped for a moment and then walked over to his partner. He put out his hand.

"Hey, Sam. Good to see you."

Sam reached out and took Callen's hand, "Good to see you, G." And then they embraced as though they hadn't seen each other for years. When they separated, their hands were still clasped.

"How are you doing?" Callen asked never taking his eyes off his partner who closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. Sam's free hand went up to his eyes reflexively.

"I've been better," he said quietly while Callen waited silently for him to continue. "It's been tough, G. It's the worst thing that's ever happened in my life." Callen reached out and grasped his shoulder.

"I know, Sam. I'm sorry. We all are." Silence hung between them until Callen broke it. "How are Kam and Aiden doing?"

"They're hurting but they're hanging in. Aiden has been great with Kam. It helped that I could take time off to be with them."

"That's good." More silence followed and then Sam turned back to his weapon and continued with its cleaning. "If you or the kids need anything, Sam, all you have to do is ask."

Sam didn't take his eyes off his weapon, but his face relaxed and some of its sorrow drained away, "I know, G, and I will ask if the time comes."

"Good," Callen replied and some of the tension in his voice eased. "Hetty said Nate's evaluating you tomorrow, and if you pass, you'll be cleared for field work."

"Yea, it looks like you'll have your old partner back—whether you want him or not."

"My old partner is the best, but I don't want him back until he's ready." Callen paused and Sam looked up. Callen continued, "I want what's best for him. So does Nate, and Nate can be a tough customer."

Sam paused and looked at Callen without a hint of a twinkle in his eye, "If Nate doesn't say I'm field ready on my evaluation tomorrow, his sorry ass is gonna be in traction for the rest of the year."

"You sound ready to me, Sam," Callen said as he turned to leave. "How about I treat my partner to dinner tonight?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere you want to go."

Sam thought for a moment. "Anywhere? Okay, partner."

"Catch up with you later," Callen said as he gave Sam a nod and left. Sam paused in thought and then turned back to finish cleaning his weapon. If Nate didn't clear him for field duty tomorrow, he and Nate were going to have words.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Anna was waiting in the car when Callen settled in behind the wheel. They pulled out and headed to Colorado Boulevard.

"How is Sam?" she asked after a few minutes.

"He's doing better."

"That's good." There was a pause before she turned her head and looked at him. "I'm sure he'll do better now that he's back with his partner."

They continued in silence to the Navy recruiting office on Colorado Boulevard. When they arrived, the recruiting office was taped off and the police had blocked off the street in front of it. Callen parked behind a squad car and then he and Anna walked to the recruiting station. An LAPD detective approached.

"NCIS Special Agent Callen," he said as he flashed his credentials to the detective.

"Simms," the LAPD detective said as he fell in step beside Callen and Anna as they walked to the body. "Your forensics crew got here fast."

"They're known for their response time," Callen said as he knelt down and lifted the sheet.

"Name's Aaron Tate," Simms continued. "The other recruiter is over by the squad car. We have her statement, but I thought you'd want to talk to her."

Callen stood up. "We'd like to."

"Okay if the coroner takes the body?"

Callen looked at the forensics team and received a nod that said they had what they needed. "Yes," Callen replied as he surveyed the scene; everything had been noted and photographed. He turned to Simms, "Send us a copy of the coroner's report as soon as it's completed?"

"Of course," Simms answered as he waved for the coroner to take the body away. Once the coroner had collected Tate's body, Simms turned back to Callen and Anna, "Let me know if you need anything." He then walked back to his officers and told them that NCIS would be taking over the investigation.

Callen and Anna walked out and over to the other recruiter who was standing by the squad car. He could see by her insignia that she held the rank of petty officer. Splotches of blood covered her otherwise neatly ironed uniform and the edge of her nametag. "Petty Officer Brown, I'm NCIS Special Agent Callen, and this is federal agent Anna Kolcheck." Petty Officer Candace Brown looked at them and nodded slightly. She seemed composed, but Callen saw the slight involuntary twitch at the corner of her mouth and knew that she was struggling. He spoke quietly and let his face relax, "I know this is difficult, Petty Officer, and we'll try to get through this as quickly as possible."

"Thank you, Agent Callen. I'm fine."

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked and motioned to the car seat available.

Candace straightened up and shook her head. "No, I don't need to sit."

"Alright, then. Just tell us what happened, Petty Officer."

"It was almost 1700 hours and I requested to leave a little early because the office traffic had been very slow and some friends and I had tickets to tonight's game. Aaron—Senior Petty Officer Tate—said that wouldn't be a problem. I left a few minutes later and then remembered that my sunglasses were still in my desk. When I came back for them, Aaron made a joke about how he was hoping to scalp those tickets so he could get a porterhouse at The Palm." She smiled at the memory.

"Those must be excellent tickets," Callen said.

"They are," Candace said. "After I picked up my sunglasses, I left." She paused and both Callen and Anna waited while she collected herself. Candace took a deep breath and then continued, "When I was about 15 yards from the office, I heard two shots behind me. I turned around and saw a man running out the door. I ran back and found Aaron—Senior Petty Officer Tate—on the floor shot twice in the chest." She took another deep breath and then looked directly at Callen. "I tried to administer CPR, but I couldn't stop the bleeding."

Seeing her distress, Callen reached out and gently touched her arm. "You did all that you could. Aaron's death is not your fault, Petty Officer." Candace smiled and then glanced down at her uniform and then back up at Callen.

"I didn't know Aaron well, but he was a first class officer, Agent Callen."

"I'm sure he was," he said as he took out one of his cards and handed it to her. "If you think of anything else, please give us a call."

"I will," she said as she took it. Callen and Anna turned to go back to the office when Candace called out. "Agent Callen." Callen turned. "Will you let me know when you catch the person, or persons, responsible? Please."

"Of course."

Simms came over to Candace and motioned an LAPD officer to take her home, and the patrol car left with its passenger as Callen and Anna entered the recruiting office.

Upon reentering the recruiting office, Callen and Anna reviewed the forensic evidence relating to the shooting. The blood spatter indicated that Tate had been standing near the center of the room when shot and that he fell almost immediately. There were no bullet holes in the walls, the floors, or the furniture, so it seemed likely that the only shots fired had been the two that had entered Tate's chest. But, as far as the forensics team could tell, nothing had been taken. The shooting had not been a robbery gone bad; it appeared that Senior Petty Officer Tate had been the target. But why? Why would anyone target a Navy recruiter, especially one who had only recently transferred to this recruiting office? Callen hoped that Kensi and Deeks who had left earlier for Tate's base in San Diego would be able to supply some information that would help explain his murder. In the meantime, he and Anna had their own investigation at this end.

Callen and Anna went to the desk with Aaron's nameplate. The forensics crew had placed Aaron's cell phone, in an evidence bag, on the desk along with his keys and wallet. Those were the only items on his person, and Callen would take them back to OSP where Eric could search his cell phone for any information that might be useful. After pulling on his gloves, Callen looked through Tate's wallet. Other than $40, a driver's license, Navy ID, and a few credit cards, the wallet was empty. There weren't any photos or personal notes on scraps of paper. Callen and Anna turned their attention to Aaron's desk. His desk and the contents of its drawers were neatly organized. He had notes of follow-up calls to be made the next day by the phone, calls that would now be made by someone else. The center drawer contained pencils and pens and numerous Post-it notepads of various sizes and colors. Anna looked through the drawers on the left side of the desk and found various files and memos relating to recruitment. Callen rummaged through the drawers on the right and noticed a small stack of what seemed to be handwritten notes neatly folded and pushed to the back of the drawer. He pulled them out, set them down on the desk, and unfolded them.

"What are those?" Anna asked shutting the final drawer on the right side she'd searched.

"I'm not sure, but it seems as though Senior Petty Officer Tate wanted to keep them out of view which means they're probably something we should look at more closely." With that, Callen closed the drawer, put the notes in an evidence bag, collected the cell phone and personal items from the desk, and left the office with Anna. On their way to the car, Callen spoke to Eric. "Were you able to find a home address for Tate?"

"He has a short-term rental in Alta Dena. I'm sending you the address now."

"We'll check it out now. Anything from Kensi and Deeks?"

"Not yet. GPS shows they're about thirty minutes from the naval base."

"Thanks, Eric." Callen hung up and then called Kensi. "Hey, Kenz."

"Yea, Callen?"

"You're not at the base?"

"Not yet. There was a huge accident on the 5 just south of Santa Ana. We took an alternate route and ran into another accident."

Deeks chimed in, "A chopper would have been faster."

"A chopper wasn't available," Callen sighed and then continued. "Kenz, don't worry about starting tonight. We're keeping Tate's murder quiet. For now, he's been wounded and in the hospital. If it's too late when you get there, start tomorrow."

"Copy that, but it won't be too late," Kensi said as she stepped a little more forcefully on the gas.

"It will be if we have an accident before we get there," Deeks said as he reached up and grasped the grab handle above the window firmly.

"Okay," Callen said with the shadow of a smile, "just let us know what you find whenever you find it."

"We will," Kensi said and in the background Callen and Anna heard Deeks exclaim, "Watch that truck!" just before she hung up.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After checking out Tate's short-term rental, Callen dropped Anna off at her place on his way back to OSP. She understood perfectly why Callen put their plans for tonight on hold, and she even made a few suggestions for dinner depending on what world cuisine Sam's taste buds craved. Maybe she would go over and surprise Arkady now that she had a free night. That was always fun although he seemed to like it more when she brought Callen along with her. She didn't understand Arkady's delight in teasing Callen, but Callen didn't let it get to him. Besides, Anna always made it up to him later.

Callen returned to OSP with Tate's phone, the notes from his desk, his personal items—keys and wallet, and a PC notebook from his short-term rental unit. Eric was waiting in Ops when Callen arrived.

"I need everything you can get off Tate's phone, Eric, especially his most recent phone calls and texts. Did you get remote access to the recruiting station PC?"

"Yes. The Navy provided that as soon as I contacted them. I've scrubbed through it but haven't found anything unusual. All the emails appear to be official communications regarding enlistment, and no one accessed any questionable or inappropriate sites. Tate had an official email account, and the Navy provided us access, but so far I've not found anything unusual or suspicious in his correspondence either."

"Well, maybe you'll find something on his personal laptop," Callen said as he set it down. "But, the priority is his phone," he continued as he handed Eric the phone.

Eric took the phone and immediately began to check out its software and encryption. "Well, our Senior Petty Officer didn't update his software as often as he should have, so it should be pretty easy to access his calls and texts." Callen waited while Eric accessed the information and then checked out the screen as the information appeared. There were a variety of calls, but all the phone numbers that appeared multiple times were to the naval base, the recruiting office, or businesses and take-out restaurants near his short-term rental. Callen continued to study the list.

"Eric, highlight all the calls he received at night, after 9 pm, beginning on the 10th." When he highlighted them, they saw that the numbers were all different and appeared to be from different areas of the city based on the first three digits. All of the calls lasted less than five minutes.

In a moment, Eric had information on the numbers. "They're all payphones, and they're all in different areas of the city."

"Why would someone be calling Tate from different payphones unless they didn't want to be identified," Callen asked no one in particular, and then he turned to Eric. "Can you access any camera footage near these payphones on those dates?"

"I can try."

"Do it," Callen said as he took the notes and began to peruse them. The notes were simple. There was a time and date followed by the initials MP. Callen glanced back up at the list of phone calls from the payphones; the times and dates corresponded to those in the notes. As he looked through the notes, there were three entries that did not include times and dates. Instead, they were addresses with dates and initials. Callen studied the information. The addresses were in Los Angeles. While Eric was accessing camera footage of the payphones, Callen turned to Nell.

"Nell, check these dates and see if there were any incidents involving Navy or military personnel in Los Angeles on any of them."

Nell turned to her computer and began accessing several data sources, and Eric had pulled up all the footage he could of the payphone caller. Callen looked up at the screen.

"The same person seems to have made all the calls, but there isn't enough light to get a clear view," Eric said as the poor images appeared on the screen.

"It looks like a woman, and it looks as if she's aware of the cameras. But why is she calling Tate?"

"It may have something to do with what happened on the dates you gave me," Nell said, and Callen turned to her.

"What happened on those dates?"

Nell tossed images of LAPD police reports up on the screen and continued her explanation, "On each of these dates, a homeless veteran was found dead on the streets of L.A. Their names match the initials by each date."

"Were the deaths suspicious?"

"Not to the LAPD. The men had a history of living on the streets, and all of their deaths were evidently the result of drug overdoses."

"Were they Navy?"

"Two were Navy and one was a Marine. They ranged in age from early thirties to late fifties. One left the Navy just last year, but the others left the service between 3-4 years ago."

"Had any of them been in San Diego or at Pendleton?" Callen asked.

"They'd all passed through at some time in their service, but none had ever been stationed at either for any length of time. One Navy man had been stationed at Guam, one at Bremerton, and the Marine had been at Ft. Benning," Nell said.

At that moment, Callen's phone rang and when he answered, it was Kensi.

"Callen, we've interviewed a few of Tate's fellow officers. So far, no one has had anything negative to say about him."

"Actually," Deeks chimed in, "no one seems to know much about him."

"He doesn't seem to have had many close friends," Kensi conceded.

"Maybe you just haven't talked to the right people yet," Callen suggested, and then continued, "Kenz, there may be a drug connection. I'm sending you the names of some veterans who recently died in L.A. from drug overdoses. Two of them were Navy and one was a Marine. They all left the service within the past four years, and they all passed through San Diego or Pendleton during their service. See if you can find anything about them while you're there, especially any issues involving drugs. Also, check into any recent cases involving illegal drugs that might have been handled by base authorities."

"We're on it," she said before hanging up.

Callen then turned back to the images of the caller. "So, our caller knew Tate, but maybe she also knew our homeless vets. Who would have access to that information?"

"Someone working for the military, or . . ." Eric began.

"Someone working with the homeless population," Callen said completing his thought. "Nell, let's see if we can match anyone from Tate's personal life, specifically his high school or college days, with anyone currently in the military or working with the homeless in Los Angeles County, government or private agencies with the initials MP. If you can't find anyone in LA County, then broaden the search to Orange, San Bernardino, and Ventura counties. Let me know as soon as you have anything," he said as he headed out.

"Where will you be?" Eric asked before he could stop himself.

Callen gave him a sidelong glance before answering, "I'll be treating my partner to dinner, and I have no idea where he wants to go." And with that, he left as Eric and Nell exchanged smiles and thumbs up.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"It's been a long time since I've eaten this late," Sam said while sitting in the passenger seat of the Benz. "I hope this place is worth the drive."

"According to Anna, it has the best Italian food, including pizza, in Los Angeles, as well as a very substantial wine list."

"If they have Villa Sant'Anna Rosso di Montepulciano 2013, then I'll know they have a substantial wine list."

"If they have Peroni beer, I'm good."

"Beer, even Italian beer, isn't what you drink with good Italian food, G."

"It's what I drink with any food."

"Not tonight," Sam said with some finality. "If they have Sant'Anna Rosso di Montepulciano 2013, we'll both have that. There's nothing better with excellent Italian food than an excellent Italian wine."

Callen looked over at Sam and couldn't help ginning. Sam was looking at him with that _I can't take you anywhere without you embarrassing me_ look. "You know, Sam, strange as it may be, I've missed your critiques of my culinary choices."

"Strange as it may be, G, I'm surprised you aren't the size and shape of a blimp yet given your daily dietary tendencies."

Callen laughed. "Well, Anna tries to get me to eat right." And then he was sorry immediately that he had mentioned Anna as an awkward silence settled between them. It was several moments before Sam broke it.

"Yea, well you need someone to help you in that area. You have the worst diet of any adult I've ever known."

"Tonight," Callen said smiling, "my diet is going to be just fine even if it doesn't include beer."

"If McRib was on the menu, you'd order it," Sam said with a shake of his head as Callen pulled into the parking lot.

"Only if they offered it with extra BBQ sauce," Callen replied with a straight face as they parked and headed in a few minutes ahead of their 8:00 pm reservation.

Down in San Diego, Kensi and Deeks were reviewing personnel files on the two deceased former Navy men on the computer. The files were sparse and not terribly helpful. Neither one seemed to have had a remarkable enlistment, and neither one had a record of disciplinary actions.

"I don't see anything in Tom's file that even remotely mentions anything to do with drugs, illegal or legal," Deeks said as he closed the file and waited for Kensi to complete her examination.

"Same here," Kensi stated. "Nothing in Mitchell's file indicates any involvement with drugs—not even a visit to the sick bay during his entire enlistment."

"And yet," Deeks mused, "they both die of a drug overdose in Los Angeles less than five years after leaving the Navy. That seems like a very odd coincidence to me, my love."

"It does seem like an odd coincidence. In fact," Kensi continued, "it is so odd that I'm willing to bet it probably isn't a coincidence."

"You know what, Kensalina? I'm not going to take that bet, because I'm betting that your bet is a good bet."

"I'm betting that your bet that my bet is a good bet is the best bet yet. Touché."

Deeks sighed, "All these years, and I still haven't been able to teach you how touché works."

"I may not know how it works, but I know what it means," Kensi said with a sidelong glance as she walked past him out of the office, her fingers barely brushing his arm.

"Now that," Deeks said smiling as he followed her out the door, "is a touché."

The next morning when Sam entered the boat shed, he found Nate waiting for him holding a cup of coffee and looking through some papers. Nate put his coffee down and offered his hand. Sam shook it and then waited for Nate to begin.

"Would you like some coffee, Sam?"

"No, thanks. I'm good."

They both stood for a moment before Nate motioned to the couch and a chair beside it.

"Why don't we sit down."

Sam walked over to the chair and sat, and Nate sat on the couch with his coffee and the papers tucked under his arm. Once seated, he put his coffee on the table in front of him and set the papers down on the seat cushion beside him. Sam glanced at the papers.

"My personnel file?"

"Not all of it," Nate said while watching Sam carefully. "Just a few pages with some notes." A few moments of silence followed until Sam finally spoke.

"Are you ready to start?"

Nate looked at Sam steadily and took a sip of coffee, "I already have."

At his desk, Callen was going over the information Eric and Nell had given him while he waited for Sam. The wonder twins had, indeed, found someone from Tate's past who was living in L.A. and was also involved, at least peripherally, with the homeless population though not specifically with homeless veterans. Her name was Mary Poplawski, and as soon as his partner showed up, they would take a quick trip downtown to see if Mary was, in fact, the MP mentioned in Tate's notes. In the meantime, he'd heard from Kensi that neither of the Navy veterans who had recently been found dead had any history of drug abuse or even drug use while in the Navy. This was also true of the Marine veteran. Their deaths were becoming more suspicious the more they dug into Tate's murder. Callen's gut told him that there was a connection between all these deaths, and speaking with Mary—if she was MP—would, he hoped, give them information that would help them identify who had killed Tate and why. Callen glanced at his watch. He hoped Sam's evaluation wasn't going to take much longer because they needed to get to the bottom of whatever was happening to veterans on the streets of L.A., and he was sure Sam was ready to return to the field. At least he'd eaten last night like he was fueling up for a marathon. A healthy appetite in Sam was always a good sign. While Callen waited, he studied the dates and times again, and then he had an idea. He called Kensi.

Just as she answered her cell, Sam dropped his duffle bag on his desk. "I'll call you back, Kenz," Callen said as he turned to see his partner giving him a look that clearly displayed his impatience.

"Shouldn't we be investigating Tate's death?"

"Big guy, your evaluation . . . ?" his question trailed off.

"It went fine," Sam said without a hint of humor. And then his eyebrows clenched, "Lucky for Nate."

Callen stood up, grabbed his notes, and then cocked his head. "If you want, I can drive . . . ."

"Hell, no. The Challenger gassed up?"

"Filled it this morning."

"I'm glad to see that you've been productive while waiting for me."

"Not only did I get gas in the Challenger. I've also, with the help of the wonder twins, found MP, I think."

They walked out together continuing their conversation.

"Who's MP?"

"I'll fill you in on the drive downtown," Callen said as he took his usual place in the passenger seat.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sitting in his customary passenger seat, Callen glanced over at his partner as Sam piloted the Challenger downtown. The big guy looked at home behind the wheel. Suppressing a smile, Callen called Kensi. "Kensi, I'm sending you three dates. Check and see if anyone from the naval base or Pendleton took a leave on or shortly before any of these dates."

"Will do, but why, Callen?"

"These are the dates the veterans were found dead. It's possible there's a connection between the deaths in L.A. and base personnel. We need to check and see if anyone took leaves before or on those dates."

"You think there might also be a connection between the deaths and a possible drug angle?"

"I think it's pretty common to find overdose deaths connected to drugs.

"That is very often true. We'll check it out," Kensi said before hanging up. When she put her phone away, Deeks was looking at her with a slight smirk.

"So now we're looking at what else?"

"Callen wants us to find out if any base personnel requested leaves around the time of the deaths in L.A."

"Callen knows how many personnel are stationed at both bases?"

"He has a good idea."

"So, he's not expecting this information anytime soon."

"These records are computerized, Deeks. It won't take that long," Kensi said with mock concern.

"Actually, I was hoping to get in some surfing before heading back."

"We're here to work," Kensi reminded him as she turned to head out to the base office.

Deeks cocked his head and with mock indignation said, "To some of us, surfing is work. In fact, it's the best work there is. Besides," he continued, "this sounds like a wild goose chase to me, Kensalina."

"I like wild geese. Do you know that they mate for life? I think that's very romantic. Don't you?"

"Oh, yea, I'm a big lover of wild geese," Deeks said with a grin as he caught up to her.

"You didn't even need GPS, big man," Callen said as Sam guided the Challenger onto 6th Street. "I'm impressed."

"I can still find my way around Timbuktu, and I haven't been there in over fifteen years," Sam said as he pulled into a parking spot.

They exited the car and headed toward the small, unassuming volunteer center where Mary Poplawski could be found several hours a week. According to the man who had answered the phone earlier, Mary would be there now.

"What makes you think there's a connection between the veteran deaths, Tate's murder, and the military bases?" Sam asked as he stopped in front of the door.

"My gut," Callen said as he squinted into the sun. "It's not as good as Hetty's, but it works—sometimes. And the fact that I don't believe in coincidences, at least not this many."

Sam pulled the door open and stepped through after Callen, "Maybe Mary can shed some light on your theory."

"It's more of a hunch than a theory, at this point."

Sam shrugged. They approached the older man sitting behind the counter and both pulled out their IDs.

"NCIS Special Agent Callen, Special Agent Hanna. We called earlier and were told that Mary Poplawski was in today."

The man looked at them with some surprise, "She is."

Sam spoke quietly, "We have a few questions we'd like to ask her."

"Is she available?" Callen asked while looking around the office casually.

The man stood up and took a few steps toward the back, "Sure." He walked to a door that led to a back area and opened it. "Mary, there're some men to see you out front." He waited and in a moment, a woman in her mid-30s stepped through the door. She was petite with long brown hair that had a mind of its own. She walked over to Callen and Sam while she tried to rein in the hair strands that had escaped from the bright green scrungee.

"What can I do for you?"

Callen and Sam showed her their IDs and introduced themselves.

She was obviously confused about their presence. "NCIS? I've never been in the Navy."

Callen smiled, "Neither have I, but you may know someone who is."

Sam continued, "We'd like to talk to you about Senior Petty Officer Aaron Tate."

"You do know him, don't you?" Callen asked.

She looked at them both and when she answered it was with a voice that betrayed her concern, "Yes, I know Aaron. I've known him since high school." She hesitated and then had to ask, "Is he in trouble?"

Callen dropped his eyes before speaking, "We're sorry to have to tell you, Ms. Poplawski, but Senior Petty Officer Tate was killed yesterday."

Mary was visibly shaken. Sam reached out, "Do you need to sit down?"

Mary shook her head, "No, no. I'm alright." She looked from Callen to Sam and back again. "You said killed."

Callen nodded, "I did." He paused for the briefest moment. "He was shot at the recruiting center."

"And you don't think it was a random shooting, do you? You wouldn't want to talk to me if you did." Mary's anxiety was becoming increasingly evident.

"At this point," Sam looked at Mary and said calmly, "we don't know if it was random or not, but we were hoping you might be able to help us in our investigation."

Mary turned to the older man, "Barry, I'm going to take a quick break."

He looked up from the book he was reading, "Sure, Mary."

"There's a coffee shop just down the street," she said as she headed out the front door followed by Callen and Sam.

In San Diego, Kensi and Deeks found several Navy personnel who had requested and been granted leaves shortly before the deaths but only two who had been granted leaves shortly before each death. The men, Ross Douglas and Xavier Ledesma, had been stationed in San Diego for almost five years and both worked in the media department. There was no way of knowing where they had gone on their leaves, but wherever it was, it hadn't been far because each granted leave was only 24 hours and they had returned well before the 24 hours had expired. Once they had this information, Kensi had another idea she wanted to investigate. She turned to the clerk who had provided them with this information. "Do personnel need special permission to travel to Mexico?"

The clerk answered promptly, "They do, m'am. Ever since September 11th, all base personnel are required to obtain permission from a CO or Duty Officer for travel south of the border."

"What about base personnel who have relatives living in Mexico?"

"Typically, they're granted leave more readily because of family, but they still need special permission."

"We need to see the records of base personnel granted permission to visit Mexico during the past three months."

The clerk walked to the computer Kensi was using. "I can access those records for you, m'am," he said as Kensi stood aside and with a few quick keystrokes the records Kensi had requested appeared on the screen. Once the records were accessed, he turned to Kensi. "Do you need access to anything else, m'am?"

"Not at the moment. If we do, we'll let you know. Thank you," Kensi said as he returned to his desk and she sat back down in front of the computer. Deeks came over and stood beside her.

"Exactly why are you checking into trips south of the border?"

"Callen mentioned there might be a drug connection." She paused. "What neighboring country has a plethora of active drug cartels?"

"Canada?" Deeks offered with raised eyebrows.

Kensi rolled her eyes and then turned back to the screen. Scrolling through the information, she suddenly stopped. "And there it is," she said with unconcealed triumph.

Deeks bent down to look at the information on the screen. He saw the names Ross Douglas and Xavier Ledesma. They had requested permission to visit Mexico four times prior to their later leave requests that preceded the deaths in Los Angeles. These visits were also only 24 hours in length.

"These boys have been traveling quite a lot these past few months."

"Yes, they have."

"What made you think they might be making trips to Mexico, my love?"

"I noticed that Ledesma has an uncle in the Federal Police. He's listed as an emergency contact, and his home address is in Tijuana."

"You are firing on all cylinders today."

She smiled, "That's because I'm focused on our case and not on the size of the waves."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Painfully obvious, surfer boy," Kensi said as she stood up and called Ops.

"Eric, I'm sending you the names of two Navy personnel of interest based in San Diego. I need you to find them as they crossed into Mexico outside Tijuana."

"Not a problem. Did they cross over today?"

"No. I'm sending you some dates. They crossed on these dates. I'm not certain of the time, but it would probably be early morning."

"I'll find them."

"Thanks, Eric. Let me know when you have something." She turned to Deeks, "I think we should probably talk to Ross and Xavier in person. What do you think?"

"I think, that the sooner we talk to the two of them, the sooner I can more accurately measure the size of the waves," he replied in mock seriousness as they headed to the media office.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mary, Callen, and Sam were sitting in a booth in Cup o' Joe a few streets over from the volunteer center. Even though it was late afternoon, the shop was half full of business people. A few homeless men sat on the sidewalk out in front, and they had greeted Mary as she entered with Callen and Sam.

When the waitress came to their booth, Mary ordered a cherry Coke.

"I'll have coffee," Callen said while Sam didn't order anything.

After the waitress left, Mary looked from Callen to Sam and then asked, "How did you find me?"

Callen pulled one of the handwritten notes from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. It was the date and time of a phone call with the initials MP. Mary smiled. "Aaron called me Mary Poppins in high school. He said I was always cheery and always trying to help people. Plus he couldn't ever remember my last name."

"He knew you pretty well," Sam observed. "Years out of high school, and you're still helping people."

"I do what I can," Mary shrugged, "but I'm probably not as cheery as I was back then." She turned suddenly serious. "I've seen too many awful things, too much meanness."

"But you haven't given up entirely," Callen told her quietly. She looked at him and smiled again.

"Not yet," she sighed and took a sip from her Coke as soon as the waitress set it down in front of her.

"Ms. Poplawski," . . .

"Mary, please," she interrupted.

Callen started again. "Mary, we'd like to know why you were contacting Senior Petty Officer Tate."

She took another sip and counted the bubbles in the glass before responding.

"We think it might help us in our investigation of his murder," Sam said.

She looked at both of them and the anxiety was evident in her face. "I'm afraid my contacting Aaron might have caused his death."

"No," Callen said firmly, "it didn't. Mary, the man who shot Senior Petty Officer Tate was responsible for his death and no one else, certainly not you."

She took another sip. "I contacted Aaron because I thought someone was contacting homeless vets in the area and using them as couriers for something that was dangerous or maybe even illegal."

Callen and Sam exchanged glances. "What made you think that, Mary?" Sam asked.

"A lot of homeless vets hang out near the Weingart Center on San Pedro St. during the day. Quite a few of them have rooms there, but there are many who prefer—or think they prefer—the streets." She hesitated but Callen and Sam simply waited for her to continue, so she did. "A few months ago when I came around with some personal items and sandwiches to pass out—I do that occasionally—I saw two men talking to some of the vets. When I approached, the men left, and when I asked what they'd wanted, the vets hemmed and hawed and finally told me that the men had been asking them about old war stories."

"And you didn't believe that," Sam interjected.

"I didn't. I mean, why would the men have left just because I approached? That seemed suspicious to me."

"That is a good question," Callen agreed. "And then something happened that made you even more suspicious."

"Yes," Mary said with emphasis. "I came by again not long after that, this time in the late afternoon, and saw the same men giving one of the vets a very large shopping bag."

"A shopping bag?" Sam asked and looked at Callen.

"A huge bag, almost like a trash bag. And some money. Before I could ask them what was going on, they left and the vet boarded a city bus. I was thinking of following the bus, but I had items to distribute."

"So, you couldn't," Sam said.

"Besides, I wasn't even sure there was anything wrong." She stopped and took another sip before she said quietly, "And then I learned that the veteran I saw boarding the bus had been found a few days later dead of a drug overdose."

"And that was suspicious because . . .," Callen's voice trailed off.

"Because Kyle wasn't into drugs. I found out that LAPD had ruled his death an accidental overdose. When I asked how he'd overdosed, they said they'd found him with a needle in his arm. I knew something was wrong."

"How did you know?" Callen wondered.

"Because Kyle was terrified of needles," Mary stated without any hesitation. Callen gave Sam a look that said he could definitely relate to that. "There's no way he would ever have injected himself. He wouldn't even be able to hold a needle, let alone stick himself with it." She finished her Coke. "Somebody else had to have injected him."

"And you told the LAPD all this?" Sam asked as he cast a glance at Callen.

"I did."

"And their response?" Callen asked.

"They assured me that they would look into it, but I know their resources are stretched thin, and the death of another homeless person—even a veteran—is low on their priority list."

Callen and Sam looked at one another and then turned their attention back to Mary.

"So, you shared your suspicions with Senior Petty Officer Tate," Callen said as took his first sip of coffee.

"I did." The waitress came to refill her glass, but Mary waved her away. "We've kept in touch over the years. When I told him about what had happened, he said he thought he should look into it. A few days later, he sent me a note that he was coming to L.A. to work at one of the recruiting offices and to let him know about anything else I saw that seemed suspicious."

"And you only contacted him by calling him from payphones," Sam observed.

"That was Aaron's idea. I think he was worried about me leaving a digital footprint." She paused. "I actually think he thought there was something not kosher in San Diego and maybe this was somehow related. But he never said anything specific. It was just a feeling I had."

Callen leaned forward slightly, "So, you didn't meet with Tate?"

"No. We were going to meet the day after tomorrow. I was actually out of town this past week, so that was the soonest we could get together."

"But you contacted Tate several more times," Sam stated.

"I did because two more homeless vets disappeared and then turned up dead from drug overdoses." She explained, "After Kyle's death, I passed out cards with my contact information to all the homeless vets I could find so that I could be contacted in case of an emergency." She slid out of the booth and stood up. Callen paid the check and then he and Sam followed Mary out of the coffee shop. "I have to get back to the office."

Callen took out one of his cards and handed it to her. "If you think of anything else, or if you see anything else that you think we should know about, give us a call."

"Thank you for your time," Sam said as he shook her hand, "and we're sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

Mary smiled at them before turning to go, "I'll call if I see anything else."

"But," Callen reminded her, "if you see something, Mary, call us. Don't take any action on your own."

"We absolutely do not want you putting yourself in harm's way," Sam said and then smiled. "That's what they pay us to do."

"And they don't pay us enough," Callen said with a wink.

"I promise I won't," Mary said. And then she turned quite serious. "Will you let me know when you find out who was responsible for Aaron's death?"

"We will," Sam promised before Mary turned back to work.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Back in Ops, Callen and Sam were reviewing what Eric had found after completing the search for Ross and Xavier crossing into Mexico on the dates Kensi had given him. Eric threw four pictures up on the screen. In each of the photos, Ross and Xavier were photographed entering Mexico before 7 am driving an older SUV with two surfboards and a kayak sticking out the back.

"Looks like our boys are going to the beach," Callen observed.

Sam looked at Eric, "Where does Xavier's uncle live, Eric?"

"In Tijuana. His home is less than 20 miles from the ocean and about 20 miles from Rosarito Beach."

"So," Callen mused, "our boys drive down to see Xavier's uncle and then head over to the coast for some recreation."

"Nothing too suspicious about that," Sam noted.

"Well," Eric said, "If that's all they're doing in Tijuana, maybe not. But I thought I'd take a look at our boys on their return to San Diego." Four other photos appeared on the screen. "These were taken at the border crossing later on those same days."

Callen and Sam looked at the pictures closely, and then Callen turned to Sam. "Where's Ross?"

"And where's the kayak?" Sam asked.

"That's what I wondered," Eric said and then put four more photos up on the screen. "But," he continued, "when they return to base later that night, . . . ."

Callen moved closer to the screen, "Ross and the kayak are both back in the SUV with Xavier."

"So," Sam said, "somewhere between the beach in Baja and the entrance to the base, Ross and the kayak returned via the ocean, and then Xavier picked both of them up on the U.S. side of the border."

"And he picked them up because whatever Ross brought back in the kayak probably couldn't get past the Border Patrol. And that's because," Callen said with a fare degree of certainty, "he probably brought back something illegal. Like drugs."

"But," Sam continued, "their return to the base didn't trigger any alerts, so they didn't bring anything back to the base, which means . . . ."

Callen turned to Eric, "Find out if either Ross or Xavier have a storage unit in the area."

Eric concentrated and within minutes had found a storage unit under both their names just north of Chula Vista. Callen called Kensi.

When Kensi answered, she and Deeks were just leaving the media office on the base, and she spoke before Callen had a chance to say anything. "I was just about to call you, Callen. We haven't been able to find either Ross or Xavier. Their shift ended before we arrived."

"Let's change things up, Kensi. Ross and Xavier have a storage unit just north of Chula Vista. Eric will send you the address. Why don't you and Deeks check it out."

"We're on it," she said and gave Deeks a nudge.

"Now what?"

"Chula Vista."

"What? I thought that since our two persons of interest weren't here, we'd be able to take a break and maybe, you know, get in some wave action."

"Well, if we get to Chula Vista and check out this storage unit quickly, Shaggy, I promise you will get in some kind of action before the sun goes down."

Deeks made a break for the Audi as he called out, "Shotgun!"

When Kensi and Deeks reached the storage facility, they saw that they were not going to be able to even enter the parking lot without a pass code. "Eric," Deeks said, "we're going to need you to open the gate for us."

"On it," Eric said as he hacked into the storage facility system.

In a minute, the gate opened and the Audi entered the parking lot. Once Kensi and Deeks exited the Audi, Deeks continued, "And the door, Eric." They stood outside one of the entrance doors until they heard it click. Deeks opened it and they walked inside. Kensi checked her phone.

"The storage unit is 325, so that looks like it'll be on the third floor," she said as they headed for the freight elevators.

As they exited the elevator, Deeks glanced up. "There are security cameras everywhere."

"Well," Kensi said as she checked the signs indicating the location of the units, "it is a secure facility."

"Unless you have someone like Eric to let you in," he shrugged as they both turned and headed down one of the corridors.

When they reached the unit, they found a heavy duty padlock on the door of the 5x8 size unit. "Whatever they're storing inside can't be very big," Deeks said.

"Or they can't have very much of it," Kensi continued as she knelt down at the lock.

Deeks bent down and spoke into her ear, "Uh, did you forget about the cameras?"

"Nope," Kensi said as she picked the lock cleanly. "Take a closer look; most of them are dummy cameras. Only the cameras by the elevators are operational." And with that she removed the lock and rolled the door up.

"A secure facility?" Deeks said with sarcasm. "I think somebody deserves a refund," he said as he pulled on his gloves and joined Kensi inside the unit.

The storage unit was filled with metal storage shelves and a variety of miscellaneous items, most of them innocent looking: boxed games, DVDs, stacks of magazines, boxes of books, camping equipment. "We don't even know what we're looking for," Deeks said as he continued rummaging through stacks.

"Be sure to put everything back," Kensi reminded him.

He shot her a look as he continued, "This isn't my first rodeo, princess."

"Kensi, Deeks," Eric's voice broke through their conversation, "Ross and Xavier are on their way to the unit."

Kensi and Deeks quickly put the items back in their places, rolled the door down, removed their gloves, and relocked the padlock.

"Where are they, Eric?" Kensi asked as she and Deeks stood outside the unit.

"They're just exiting the elevator."

Deeks looked left and right. "They can reach the unit from two different directions. Which way are they coming?"

Eric, watching through the security system, sighed, "They've split up. They're approaching the unit from both directions."

"I did not see that coming," Deeks said. "Well, Kensalina, it looks like we're not going to get out of here without being seen."

"It doesn't, but sometimes you have to play the cards you're dealt." They hesitated a moment and then turned and headed back to the elevator. In a moment, Ross approached them in the corridor. He locked eyes with them and smiled. Kensi and Deeks smiled in return and continued walking. When they reached the elevator, they turned to each other and shrugged. "Eric, let Callen know that we won't be able to interview Ross or Xavier," Kensi said as she and Deeks entered the elevator and headed back down.

"We could go to San Diego and interview Ross and Xavier," Callen said.

"Why?" Sam asked. "We don't even know for sure that whatever they might be involved in is related to Tate's murder."

"You're right," Callen conceded, "but so far there's nothing else in his life that even remotely suggests a motive for murder." He continued, "Tate had no current girlfriend or boyfriend, no ex's that were angry or had a history of violence, no gambling issues, no connections to any questionable or extremist groups of any kind, no prior gang affiliation, nothing of any criminal nature. Hell, he wasn't even a member of the NRA."

"You think the NRA is an extremist group?"

"No," Callen said, slightly exasperated. "I'm just saying the guy seemed to be involved totally in his Navy career and only in his Navy career. Based on everything know, he was a squared-away guy."

Sam leaned back in his chair and stared in silence at Callen for several minutes. Finally, Callen broke the silence.

"Okay, big guy, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Sam said while continuing to stare at his partner, "that you're probably right, and that Tate's murder is somehow connected to whatever Ross and Xavier are involved in, and . . . ." His voice trailed off.

"And?" Callen coaxed.

"And, that if Ross and Xavier visited their storage unit today, it may be that they'll be making a trip up our way within the next few days."

Callen put one arm on his desk and one on the arm of his chair, tilted his head slightly, and looked at Sam. "I think you might be right, and . . . ." His voice trailed off.

"And?" Sam said with a raise of his eyebrows.

"And if they do, I think we should be ready for them."

Back in San Diego at the base, Kensi and Deeks had just confirmed that Ross and Xavier had both recently requested and been granted a 24 hour leave for Friday, two days from today. Once they'd passed that information to Callen and Sam, they left immediately to return to OSP. As they left San Diego and headed north, Deeks looked past Kensi at the breaking waves of the Pacific Ocean and sighed. Kensi glanced at her despondent passenger and offered a mock frown. Deeks was not amused.

"I don't want sympathy," Deeks said with an exaggerated whine as he continued to look past Kensi to the waves. "I wanted 30 minutes in that beautiful ocean with my beautiful board and my beautiful baby, but that was too much to ask, I guess."

"I know things didn't work out this time and even though we didn't have time to hit the beach, the sun hasn't set yet."

Outwardly, Deeks kept his emotional response subdued and feigned disinterest, but inwardly he could hardly contain his desire to get home.

While Kensi and Deeks drove back to Los Angeles, Callen and Sam were discussing their plan in Ops, and Sam was not on board.

"I don't like it, G. Three veterans have already turned up dead of drug overdoses as well as Tate being gunned down at the recruitment office."

"But none of those guys had partners covering their backs."

"There's still a lot we don't know, G."

"True."

"For instance, we don't know who else is involved, and it seems pretty obvious that somebody else is involved."

"Agree. After all, we know neither Ross nor Xavier were in Los Angeles the day Tate was murdered."

"Exactly, and because we don't know, that makes the entire op that much more dangerous." Callen just shrugged, so Sam continued. "It's more than a little likely that Ross and Xavier are dealing with local drug gangs."

"That's true," Callen agreed.

"In fact, it's likely that the drug gangs are the ones responsible for the deaths of the veterans—especially since Ross and Xavier only had leaves of 24 hours—as well as the murder of Tate."

"I'm not arguing, Sam, but Ross and Xavier will probably be in Los Angeles the day after tomorrow. We don't have time to set up something else. I know it's a crap shoot, but we don't know when—or even if—they'll be coming to Los Angeles again—if they come this time."

Sam still refused to buy in. "I get that, G, but we can't afford to run an op by the seat of our pants, especially when there's the very real chance that we're dealing with people who don't hesitate to kill."

Before Callen could respond, Sam turned and left Ops. Eric and Nell looked at one another in silent surprise, and Callen shook his head. He turned to them and said quietly, "Go ahead and get my identity backstopped just the way I described it."

"Okay," Eric said as Callen turned and left to go find his partner.

When Callen got down the stairs, Hetty was waiting for him and Sam was nowhere to be seen. "I understand," she said with a look of quiet calm, "that you and Mr. Hanna have a difference of opinion about this operation, Mr. Callen."

"It's nothing, Hetty. It'll be fine," Callen assured her and started walk past her to find Sam when Hetty stopped him.

"Mr. Callen, I'd like to speak to you for just a moment in my office."

Callen clearly thought this unnecessary but stopped and turned around and followed Hetty back to her desk. She took her seat behind her desk, and Callen sat in the seat Sam had occupied only a few days before. She folded her hands and placed them on her desk and then tilted her head slightly and looked at her senior agent. He waited. Finally, she asked, "Why do you think Sam is so adamantly against this operation, Mr. Callen?"

"Well," he began, "Sam's a perfectionist. That's one of his greatest strengths, and he thinks we're putting this operation together too fast." He gestured with his hands to emphasize his comments, "And I don't disagree, Hetty. But sometimes, you have to put an operation together fast because of circumstances, and in this case, the circumstances dictate the operation timetable. And it is a very tight timetable."

Hetty collected her thoughts before she spoke. "I agree that Mr. Hanna is a perfectionist, Mr. Callen, but I don't believe that is the reason for his very vocal objection to this plan." She paused to see if Callen might have picked up on what she was suggesting, but his questioning glance told her he hadn't, so she continued. "I believe that what Mr. Hanna objects to is the risk assessment level."

Callen quickly tried to dismiss that, "All operations have risks of varying levels, Hetty."

"That's true," Hetty acknowledged. "But sometimes there are personal situations involving agents that make an operation with a high risk level unacceptable." She looked at Callen and saw the light begin to dawn. Now he looked to her for an answer.

"I don't see another option, and given what's at stake, I don't think we can afford to not conduct this operation."

"I agree, Mr. Callen, but I think you need to make sure that Mr. Hanna knows—and more importantly, believes—that you will do everything possible to minimize the risk to the team and especially to yourself." She paused. "It wasn't that long ago that Sam lost his wife. If, during this operation, he were to lose his partner, too . . . ."

Callen considered everything Hetty said and realized that he had completely misread Sam's reluctance to buy into this operation. He could have kicked himself for being so obtuse. The only thing to do now was to find Sam and assure him that he was not going to take any unnecessary risks, and that with Sam, Kensi, and Deeks all covering him in overwatch, the likelihood of anything happening to him was almost completely nonexistent.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Callen stepped outside and found Sam leaning against the Challenger, so he walked over and leaned against the Challenger next to him. The silence hung between them for a few minutes while they both seemed to be studying the exterior of the building. Callen didn't look at Sam when he spoke, "I know the operation isn't perfect, Sam, and if you have some alternative ideas, just tell me." He paused and then glanced at his partner, "I may not agree, but I'm willing to listen."

Sam sighed deeply, "You're right, the operation isn't perfect, G, but we've run ops before that weren't perfect."

"Like the one in Brazil last year?" Callen reminded him with raised eyebrows.

"Yea, that one was far from perfect," Sam noted, but he turned to Callen and continued. "But neither one of us was being put in a life-threatening situation against an unknown enemy in that operation, so any mistakes that we might have made wouldn't have resulted in one of us not coming home."

Callen stared at the ground for a moment and then met Sam's eyes, "We both know that I'm the only one who can go undercover in this op, but you and Kensi and Deeks will all have my back."

"And we still don't know exactly who and how many we're dealing with," Sam countered.

"This wouldn't be the first time, Sam," he paused for just a beat and then continued, "and it won't be the last. You have my word that I will do everything possible to minimize the risks for all of us," Callen looked steadily at Sam and spoke with a sincerity that was strong and true, "including myself. And I've never broken my word to you, partner."

"No," Sam looked at Callen with genuine affection, "you never have. And you'd better not start now, G." He reached out and offered his hand which Callen grasped and then Sam said in a deadly serious voice, "If you pull any of the lone wolf crap, I'll kill you myself."

"It's nice to know you still care," Callen said as Kensi and Deeks walked into view.

Shortly after Sam returned to the field, Hetty had called Kensi to inform her and Deeks that Sam had been cleared by Nate and was back at work. Hetty wanted them to know so that when they returned, they would not be surprised. She also didn't want them to make much ado about his return.

"Ms. Blye, I think it would be wise when you and Mr. Deeks return to L.A. to welcome Mr. Hanna back, acknowledge that he has been absent and express condolences as appropriate, but to not make too much of his return to work. We want everything to feel as normal as possible for him."

"Copy that, Hetty. That is great to hear, and I agree with you. I'll let Deeks know."

So now, when Kensi and Deeks crossed to the Challenger, they didn't demonstrate an exaggerated emotional response.

"Sam, my man, it's good to see you back," Deeks called out as he offered Sam his hand and when he took it, Deeks pulled him close for a quick clench. "I have to tell you, it's been tough on me and Kensi, babysitting Callen while you were away."

Kensi stepped forward and gently pushed Deeks aside, "Don't listen to him, Sam." She smiled and embraced him, "We were happy to babysit Callen for you." Then she grew serious. "Seriously, Sam, it's good to see you again."

"And it's good to be back even though the time off was needed," Sam told both of them and gave them his 'I know what you mean' look. "And, I know Callen can be a handful. Thank you, both, for keeping him out of trouble."

Callen looked and listened with mock astonishment while waiting for the conversation to come to an end. But Deeks wasn't quite ready to get back to the serious task at hand. Looking from Callen to Sam, he turned to Kensi, "Kensi, do you think we were interrupting something? Because if we were, we can always come back."

"We certainly can," Kensi agreed, and then she cast a sidelong glance at Deeks. "The sun will be setting soon."

"But the night is young," Deeks said with a wink.

"Well, whatever you two might be thinking about doing, you can forget it," Callen said with finality, "because we have an op to run starting tonight."

"And," Sam continued as they all headed back inside, "we all need to be at the top of our game."

A little while later in Ops, they were going over the operation and ironing out the finer details.

"So, while you're setting yourself up to be the target," Deeks said looking at Callen and then caught Sam's expression, "oops, contact, Artie will be your street shadow."

"Tonight, tomorrow, and the next day."

"And Artie better not lose sight of his charge," Sam stated giving Deeks a look that needed no additional explanation.

Trying to lighten the mood a little, Deeks looked from Callen to Sam and said, "Artie—and his coat—stick to any assignment—or person—the way gum sticks to the bottom of your shoes or tree sap to your car's window."

"I want Artie and his coat staying at least one block away from me," Callen told Deeks. "Any closer and I'll probably get a rash again." Then he turned back to the screen. "Eric has tapped into cameras on the streets bordering the Weingart Center. Based on what Mary told us, it seems likely that someone is choosing the vets prior to Ross and Xavier meeting them and giving them whatever it is they're giving them."

"Why do you think that?" Kensi asked.

Sam replied, "From what Mary could see, there wasn't a lengthy discussion between the two men—who we think were Ross and Xavier—and the vet before he took possession of the large bag and the money."

"Also," Callen continued, "none of the other vets approached and tried to get in on the action."

"It does sound pre-arranged," Deeks concurred and Kensi nodded in agreement, "with maybe a little intimidation tossed in."

"Using what we know about the three vets who've been found dead, I'll be backstopped as a former Navy petty officer who's fallen on hard times and recently arrived in Los Angeles."

"I'll drop Callen off in an alley several blocks from the Men's L.A. Mission," Sam explained as he outlined the area on the map that was now on the screen. "He's going to 'check-in' there."

"Which means," Callen interjected, "I'll drop some personal details and pick up information about the services they offer."

"But you won't be staying inside?" Deeks asked.

"No, I'm going to be on the street tonight, tomorrow night, and I should be making my delivery Friday night."

"Okay," Deeks said and then let Callen continue.

"Tomorrow during the day, the plan is to visit as many of the charity and homeless shelters as possible before settling down among the other vets."

Kensi interrupted, "Do you think it's possible that one of the volunteers or an employee at one of the shelters or charities is involved, providing details about vets to Ross and Xavier?"

"It's possible," Callen said, "which is one reason I'm going to drop by as many facilities as I can, ostensibly to see what services they offer but really to be seen by as many people as possible."

"So what else do we know about the three vets who died of drug overdoses other than that they were homeless?" Deeks asked.

"Even though they were homeless, they seemed to have been solid, decent men who became homeless through no fault of their own," Sam noted.

"Which is why Artie," Callen explained, "although he has plenty of street cred, won't work in this situation—besides the fact that you've been seen by Ross."

"But if the vets were Navy men, why not let Sam go?" Deeks asked. "He actually was a Navy man."

Callen looked at Deeks, then at Kensi, and then at Sam before finally looking back at Deeks, "Seriously? Nobody is going to hire a guy who looks like he could break their necks with one good swing."

"Probably true," Deeks said as he looked at Sam.

"And that makes my alias, Jim Matti, who's bio indicates he's honest and responsible with a solid service record, is perfect."

"So," Deeks commented, "he's nothing like you."

Callen and Kensi both acknowledged Deeks' touché, but Sam was not amused. "Stay focused," he snapped, and everyone fell silent. "Look, outside of Ross and Xavier, we have no idea who we're dealing with or how many. The only thing we do know is that they won't hesitate to kill. We can't afford to slip up in any way, at any time."

"And we won't, Sam," Kensi promised.

"We got this," Deeks assured him echoing his partner.

"Okay then," Callen said to his team, "let's get this done."

As they exited Ops, Deeks whispered to Kensi, "Does Sam seem wound a little tight?"

She whispered back, "You would be too if I were the bait."

"Touché," Deeks said under his breath because he couldn't argue with that.

Sam was the last one to exit Ops and before leaving, he turned back to Eric and Nell. "You need to monitor those cameras as long as Callen's out there."

"Don't worry, Sam," Nell replied, "I'm brewing lots of coffee." Eric gave her a quizzical look, but Nell simply shrugged and said, "Hetty's orders."

Sam was in the doorway when he turned back once more. "And Eric, don't forget to run a kaleidoscope search for Xavier's SUV on Friday. We need to know where it is and where it goes."

"I won't," Eric confirmed. "I have the license plate information already entered."

"Okay, thanks," Sam said and then went to join the others waiting downstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Early that evening, the Challenger was parked in an alley just outside Skid Row. Callen, wearing a slightly worn and baggy jacket checked his earwig one more time with Eric before stepping out. He opened the car door and grabbed his duffle from the back seat.

"Hey," Sam's voice stopped him. "Stay alert, G."

"Staying alert isn't going to be a problem in this crowd," Callen said as he exited the car and started off down the alley. Sam stayed put scanning the alley, and when Callen was out of sight, he contacted Eric. "Eric, Callen has exited the alley. Do you still have eyes on him?"

Eric checked his screen and saw Callen walking away from the alley toward the Men's L.A. Mission a few blocks away. "Sam, we have a clear view of Callen. As long as he stays on the streets and doesn't use alleys as shortcuts, there shouldn't be a problem keeping an eye on him."

"And his GPS is active?"

Now Nell answered Sam, "Yes, Sam, the signal is strong and clear."

"Let me know right away if you lose sight of him or his GPS."

"Will do, Sam," Eric said and then turned to Nell. "Does Sam seem more anxious than usual?"

Unseen by either, Hetty had entered Ops and responded to Eric's question. "Mr. Hanna is merely confirming that our operational center—you two—will maintain comprehensive surveillance of Mr. Callen during this operation."

"Of course," Nell replied as she shot a glance in Eric's direction.

"Good," Hetty said with a slight nod. "As you will with Mr. Hanna, also keep me appraised of your surveillance of Mr. Callen, and let me know immediately should you lose contact with him." And with that directive, she slipped out as silently as she had slipped in.

Fiery fingers of orange and red were dragged across the evening sky by dusk and faded into threads as Callen made his way along the sidewalk to the Men's L.A. Mission looming a few blocks ahead. There he would fill out the paperwork necessary for Jim Matti to receive assistance, providing enough information—he hoped—to present a perfect target for whoever picked the "couriers" for Ross and Xavier. He carried no weapon in the dirty duffle bag slung over his shoulder, but Sam had insisted that he include a small canister of mace among his meager belongings. As he approached the old and rather dreary looking building surrounded by other homeless visitants, Callen's thoughts drifted back to the time when the duffle he carried now could have easily held everything he owned. He could still get all his clothes in it, but not his chair or lamp or coffee pot. He smiled slightly realizing how much he had acquired and yet how much less he had than others. Everything was relative.

As he approached the building, Callen saw Deeks sitting on the sidewalk a short distance from the entrance deep in conversation with a man who stood behind a heavily loaded shopping cart. Callen was grateful again that his clothes, though worn and definitely shabby, would not result in the rash Artie's old coat had produced on his body when he'd worn it for less than an hour. He could only imagine the rash that would break out if he had to wear it for two days. Callen almost shuddered at the thought, and he seldom shuddered.

It took Callen almost an hour to complete the paperwork and get a tour of the facility and all the available services. The volunteer who helped him was abrupt in his manner but very knowledgeable and helpful, providing Callen with a lot of information. Callen also noticed a volunteer who seemed to be paying very close attention to him, and when he began his tour, Callen noticed this same volunteer checking out his paperwork.

By the time he left the shelter, evening had descended. Deeks was still on the sidewalk, but he was stretching and doing what looked to be some kind of exercise using one of the exterior walls of the building while holding a conversation with himself. The shopping cart man was gone. Callen shifted his duffle to his other shoulder and walked past Deeks on his way to Weingart. "Don't forget the gluts," he said casually as he passed.

Deeks swung around and called after him, "You want me to exercise your gluts, man? Gluts are personal! I don't exercise anybody's gluts but my own!"

Callen dropped his head and sighed. He should have known better than to mention gluts, but at least it would give Deeks a reason to follow . . . and sure enough, in less than a minute Deeks began wandering in the general direction of the Weingart.

By the time Callen—and his shadow, Deeks—reached the Weingart, an informal queue of the homeless had formed along the sidewalk. The Weingart's doors were still open, so Callen could enter, but he thought he would wait until morning when more workers and volunteers would be present. He didn't have much time to establish his credentials, so he didn't want to waste effort. He moved to what seemed to be the back of the queue. The man in front of him turned to stare. Callen met his gaze without wavering.

"I guess this is where you line up if you want to get assistance?" Callen asked in a conversational tone. The man said nothing but simply turned back around and put his head down. Callen made himself as comfortable as he could on the concrete using his duffle as a pillow and settled down to get some sleep. It wasn't the worst bed he'd ever had, and he was grateful that he didn't need more than his jacket for warmth. Before he rolled over onto his back to stare up at the fluorescently illuminated night sky, he checked out his shadow.

Deeks sauntered across the street to where another small group of homeless had gathered and were engaged in a somewhat animated conversation about everything from aliens to the best way to store cigarettes so they didn't get crushed, and he joined in with unrestrained enthusiasm. Even from his personal space on the sidewalk across the street, Callen could easily make out Deeks' voice as he regaled his companions with anecdotes. It was going to be a long night.

The Challenger was parked two blocks away and Sam watched the activity on the streets with an alertness that belied the fact that he had been awake now for more than 16 hours straight. The only movement around him was from the homeless moving to try and find an area of greater comfort or from the few cars that passed through the neighborhood as their drivers made their way to or from work. It was in the early hours of the morning, about two hours before Kensi was set to relieve him, that Sam noticed the man walking purposefully toward the Weingart. He definitely wasn't homeless, and he didn't seem to be someone on his way to or from work, first, because there were no homes close enough for someone to walk to work from, and second, this was not an area of the city most people walked through once the sun went down.

"G., Deeks, someone's headed your way," Sam cautioned.

Outside the Weingart, Callen opened his eyes but otherwise did not move. The plaintive cry of sirens had been heard hours ago, but now the only sounds surrounding him were the snores and voices of men talking in their sleep and the occasional car driving by. He waited. Almost ten minutes passed before he heard the purposeful footsteps approach. He closed his eyes. The footsteps stopped and started again several times, and then finally they reached his position in the queue. Callen kept his breathing slow and steady. He could sense someone standing over him. And then someone touched him on the shoulder.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Callen's hand shot up, grabbed the shirt, and yanked the man wearing it to the sidewalk, and in less than five seconds, Callen was staring into the face of a complete stranger.

"That, Mr. Matti, was impressive," the man said as Callen clenched his shirt.

"How do you know my name?" Callen asked without loosening his grip.

"I have a friend who volunteers at the men's shelter. He gave me your name."

"Why?"

The man shifted uncomfortably on the sidewalk, feeling the pressure of Callen's weight behind his clenched fist. "I will explain everything if you'll let me stand up." Callen hesitated. "I'm not here to harm you, Mr. Matti. I'm here to offer you an opportunity to make some money for completing a very simple task."

Callen waited a few moments and then opened his fist and released the shirt. The man stood up slowly and waited for Callen to join him.

"What opportunity?" Callen asked with obvious skepticism.

The man glanced at the surrounding sleepers and took a step away, "Let's not disturb your neighbors."

Callen, the hand in his pocket fingering the mace canister, followed the man as he walked past the snoring sleeper at the end of the queue. Across the street, Deeks had easily moved from a prone to a sitting position, his back resting against a wall, as he watched Callen and the man move a few paces past the queue down the sidewalk. When Callen was about twenty feet from the end of the queue, he stopped, "This is far enough. Unless you're going to yell, we won't disturb anyone as long as we keep our voices down."

The man stopped and looked past Callen back at the line of sleeping men, "Okay."

"Now," said Callen, "what do you mean by opportunity?"

"You seem like a straight-up guy, Mr. Matti. Can I call you Jim?"

"Sure."

"Okay then," he said with a smile. "I have some friends who need someone reliable to make a delivery for them."

"Why don't they hire a delivery service?"

"They could, but they prefer to give jobs to veterans who need work."

"Why?"

"They're in the service themselves. And the delivery itself is very simple."

"I don't need a car?" Callen asked.

"No. The delivery is possible using public transportation."

Callen was silent for a moment, studying the man. "And what would I be delivering?"

"You'd be delivering some items for resale."

"So, it wouldn't be anything illegal," Callen said just for clarification.

"No."

"So, again, why don't they hire a delivery service?"

The man laughed a little and looked down at the sidewalk. Then he looked at Callen and smiled, "What you'd be delivering isn't illegal." Callen waited for him to continue. "As I said, my friends are in the military, and having served yourself, Jim, you know that the salaries aren't always adequate compensation." Callen looked at him but said nothing, so he continued. "They have a very small business on the side to help augment their regular salary, but this business is 'off the books,' so they prefer to have no records of transactions related to it."

"Hmm," was all Callen said as he listened to this explanation.

"One of the men has relatives in Mexico who rely on him for income, and the other has a niece who has a serious medical condition that requires expensive treatment and her family's medical coverage is limited," he offered as additional details. "They're not in this business for personal gain." He paused and realized that he needed to provide a little more information. "It's not a regular job. They collect small items—mostly toys—when they go to Mexico and they have friends who, when they've collected enough, take them to weekend swap meets." He waited a few beats and then said, "I've told you more than you need to know."

"That's your opinion," Callen said and continued, "but I get it. I've been in spots where I needed extra money. Like now." Callen finally took his hand out of his pocket. "Let's say I agree to complete this delivery. When do they need it done, and what will they pay me?"

The man seemed satisfied that Callen had accepted the story he'd been told as well as the delivery job. "You'll need to make the delivery Friday, so you'll need to stay in the area until then. A delivery Friday means the vendors will have the items in time for the swap meet."

"And the pay if I make the delivery?" Callen asked.

"The men are generous. They would pay you two hundred dollars, cash."

"Two hundred? That seems like a lot to deliver a bunch of toys. Are you sure there's nothing illegal in the delivery?"

"Nothing illegal. These men are members of the military. The only thing they're doing that's a little questionable is selling the items and pocketing the money, but I've explained their reasons." He watched Callen who studied him and then offered his hand. The man took it and smiled. "So, you'll make the delivery, Jim?"

"For two hundred dollars," Callen said, "I'd deliver more than toys for fellow . . . ." Suddenly, he stopped, pulled his hand away, and looked closely at the guy. "What service do these guys belong to?"

"The Navy," the man said with a questioning glance.

"Okay. If you'd said the Army," Callen said with a touch of sarcasm, "they'd have had to pay me double. I don't really get along with Army guys," he explained with a shrug. "It's a long story."

Now that their conversation had ended, Callen really wanted to get back to sleep. He turned and started back to his sleeping spot and the man followed. Just before he settled down, he turned back to the man. "Where do I pick up the toys?"

The man stopped. "The men will be stopping by with the toys in the early evening. There's an alley between Ceres and Gladys off 5th. Be there on Friday no later than 4:00 pm and wait for the delivery."

"They'll recognize me?"

"They will."

"How will I recognize them?"

"You won't need to, but they'll be in an SUV."

Callen shrugged and then settled back down on the sidewalk. The man left and walked back the way he came. Across the street Deeks pulled away from the wall and returned to his former position on the sidewalk, pulling his coat closer around him. Sam watched as the man crossed back in front of the Challenger but stayed where he was.

"Eric, can you run facial rec of the guy who's approaching my location?"

Eric was checking out the image on his computer screen. "The image is too dark. Plus he's wearing a hat."

"Okay. Is there a camera at the alley off 5th between Ceres and Gladys?" was Sam's next question.

Eric, having drunk several cups of coffee, checked on the camera presence for that location and informed Sam of his findings, "There are no cameras at either end of that alley. There's a camera at Gladys Park and one at Towne and 5th. Those are the closest cameras."

"Okay, thanks, Eric. You and Nell get some sleep. Things look like they'll be pretty quiet for the rest of the night," Sam said as he waited for Kensi to arrive.

Eric glanced over at Nell with exasperation, "I wish he'd told me that before I'd had that last cup of coffee."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Callen never went back to sleep after his early morning meeting, so when the sunrise broke in streaks across the sky, he was one of the first men standing as the doors opened and the queue began shuffling forward. By the time Callen walked back out onto the street after a meal of coffee and scrambled eggs, he saw Deeks eating a breakfast sandwich that had been delivered by another local volunteer organization. Callen turned and headed to Gladys Park, a few blocks away, his duffle again slung over his shoulder.

When Callen reached the park, the gate was open and groups of people had already found their spots: children were in the play area, a group of men were facing off on the basketball court, and people of all ages lounged around the picnic tables and on the benches. Callen made his way to the exercise stations. He dropped his duffle bag and started doing pushups on the incline bars. Not far away, Deeks was unenthusiastically rummaging through a trash can.

Callen's routine was interrupted by a familiar voice. "You know your form is terrible," Sam said after watching Callen for a few minutes.

"Thanks," Callen replied with a sarcastic edge and stopped. "If I were training for some event, I'd care. Besides," he continued as he grabbed his duffle, "I don't remember asking you to be my coach."

"I offer my expertise free of charge," Sam said with a simple nod, "to those who obviously need it."

"I'd rather have a donut than your advice," Callen said with a sullenness that reflected his current sugar deficit. Without a word, Sam pulled a small white bakery bag from inside his jacket and handed it to Callen. Callen looked at Sam with a combination of amazement and gratitude.

Sam merely cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders, "I know my partner and his terrible taste in food."

"There's nothing terrible about this," Callen sighed as he pulled the donut apart, folded a bit of the dough, and popped it into his mouth. His face expressed his contentment. They walked until they reached a corner of the park, then stopped and leaned against the metal fence.

"They contacted you sooner than you thought they would," Sam observed.

"Yea," Callen said after swallowing the last of the donut. "Maybe there's a dearth of reliable guys or vets in the area right now. Anyway, it looks like we were right about them coming up this weekend."

"Two more days on the street."

Callen shrugged, "But only one more night. That's a plus." He paused and checked to make sure that no one was paying undue attention to them. Deeks had moved from the trash can and was now sprawled across one of the benches, providing a running commentary about the basketball play on the court to no one in particular.

"There are no cameras in that alley where you're meeting to collect your merchandise, G."

"That's not a surprise. They seem to have this whole operation pretty well planned out."

"Did you recognize the man who contacted you?"

"No. I didn't see him at the Men's L.A. Shelter, but when I was there one of the volunteers checked out my paperwork pretty thoroughly while I was given a tour. He might be a contact."

"Eric wasn't able to get enough for a facial rec of your visitor last night, so we still don't know who's working with Ross and Xavier on this end."

"Whoever it is, they're organized which suggests that there's a lot of money involved," Callen observed.

"It does," Sam agreed. "And if that's the case, it also explains why they have no problem getting rid of people they use or think might cause problems." He looked at Callen steadily and after a moment, Callen turned to his partner.

"I am not going to take any unnecessary chances, Sam." He pulled the mace canister out of his pocket. "Look, I even have this within easy reach."

Sam studied him for a moment, and then turned and looked out at the people in the park. "Good. You keep that within reach, G, and like I told you earlier," he said as he lowered his voice, "if you go lone wolf or take any unnecessary risks, I'll kill you myself if they don't."

"I know you mean that in a 'this is how much I care about you partner' kind of way, but I'm just not getting that vibe." Callen squinted into the sun and studied Sam's face. "You're grumpy when you don't get enough sleep."

Sam pressed his lips together tightly as he turned to leave and said quietly, "Oh, you'll get my vibe if you do anything stupid, G. And I'm going to get some sleep now, so don't give Kensi any grief." Callen was preparing a retort, but Sam wasn't waiting. He turned and exited the park walking past Deeks who was still hanging around the basketball court. Callen waited a few minutes and then threw away the bakery bag and decided he'd wander to San Julian Park. From there, he would make his way to the alley and check out the rendezvous spot in case he had to improvise on Friday.

As he left the park, Callen stopped and asked directions of a man sitting near Deeks, "Hey buddy, isn't there another park in the area?"

Before the man could say anything, Deeks—in his best Artie voice—answered, "Does he look like a map?" Callen gave him a quizzical and slightly irritated look, but that just encouraged Deeks to continue. "He isn't a map, but I am."

"You're a map?" Callen said wishing he could have thought of some other way to alert Deeks to his next destination.

"Absolutely," Deeks said, clearly relishing being able to tweak Callen without suffering any consequence. Callen paused a moment, giving serious consideration to ending this conversation now, but he could see that Deeks was enjoying himself, so he thought what the hell. Callen didn't have anything better to do at the moment.

"So, you can tell me if there's another park in the area?"

"Nope," Deeks declared.

Callen looked at him with some confusion, "I thought you said you were a map."

Deeks' expression was one of amazement that he had to explain the simplest thing, "I am. I'm a map of San Francisco. If you need directions to Golden Gate Park, I can help you, but I don't know anything about L.A." And then Deeks turned his attention back to the basketball as if Callen had simply disappeared.

Exhausted from the conversation and beginning to feel the effects of lack of sleep, Callen made his way to San Julian Park. On his walk there, he made a point to stop at the various shelters, SROs, and charitable organizations scattered throughout Skid Row, but he took care to avoid the volunteer center where he and Sam had met Mary. They'd let Mary know that Callen would be "working" on Skid Row in the unlikely event she saw him. Still, he wanted to prevent any accidental meeting. He also stopped back at the Men's L.A. Shelter to find out the status of his application for assistance; the volunteer at the desk told him to come back tomorrow. Callen's next stop was a small convenience store where he purchased the largest cold bottle of water he could find—he hadn't had a drink since breakfast—and asked the clerk directions. Although surly, the clerk relented and pointed to his right, so when Callen left the store, he turned right.

The park was crowded and Callen made his way carefully so as not to disturb any of those already sleeping. He found an unoccupied tree trunk and dropped his duffle, sat down, and leaned against it grateful for the shade. Not long after he was settled, a familiar figure entered the park, casually noted the park's current inhabitants—including his charge—and then took a seat on the ground and stretched out his full length. Callen watched, wondering how Deeks could wear that coat for so many hours and never develop even the hint of a rash. Maybe his skin was immune to whatever irritant was woven into the coat's threads. That would explain a lot. After a few minutes, Callen stood up. Deeks sprawled on the ground with his eyes closed was too much to resist. Besides, Callen knew Deeks would thank him later. Callen silently picked up his duffle, headed out of the park and stopped next to Deeks. He looked around at the crowd and then without a word slowly turned the bottle upside down.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Callen walked the length of the alley and studied the location carefully while Kensi, parked in the Audi two blocks away, kept watch over the comings and goings of the people nearby. Whoever these guys were, they knew how to pick a secluded spot. The alley was short and most of the doors leading into it couldn't be opened from the outside which was to be expected. There was the stench of urine and excrement mingled with a variety of odors the sources of which Callen didn't even want to imagine. At the end of the alley off 5th Street, there were two large dumpsters and several small piles of discarded bottles and trash that could prove useful if needed. The smell was pungent. It reminded Callen of the operation they ran on the outskirts of the slums in Manila, but this was faint compared to that. Still, after about ten minutes, Callen had seen enough—and smelled enough. He had the rest of the day to kill, so he made his way back to the Weingart. Even though he'd been contacted, there was still a chance that he was being watched, so he needed to keep up his cover as a homeless vet looking for help.

After filling out more paperwork, Callen grabbed a bite at one of the Skid Row community kitchens. As he glanced up from his plate of mashed potatoes, meat loaf, and green beans, he saw Deeks carrying his plate to the table across from his. After Deeks sat down, he raised his water glass in a toast, a touché recognition of the shower he'd been given earlier. Callen returned the toast and finished his meal.

At about nine o'clock that night, Callen took his place at the end of the queue outside the Weingart and Deeks set up camp across the street with his buddies from the previous night. Their conversation again veered crazily from one topic to the next unrelated topic, and Callen heard Deeks elaborate about the evils of synthetic pillows and his disgust over the quality of toilet paper in the community toilets. After all, if he had to pay 25¢ to use the loo, at the very least he expected soft toilet paper. A little organic soap and lotion would also be good. How was he ever going to keep his hands soft without lotion? Callen heard a chorus of agreement from Deeks' listeners about the toilet paper quality, but none of them picked up his organic soap and lotion complaint.

Whenever a new man entered the queue, Callen got up and silently moved to the end. By midnight, the conversation across the street had quieted down and nobody new had joined the queue, so Callen thought he might actually stay in this spot for a few hours. Kensi had moved the Audi within a few blocks and settled down for the evening. This night looked as though it was going to be as uneventful as the day had been. And then the fight started.

Sleeping had never been Callen's strong suit, and he was getting used to the snoring and the sleep talking. It kept him awake, but he'd been dealing with getting very little sleep his whole life. He wouldn't have slept even if the night had been completely silent. Being in a potentially hostile environment meant catching quick catnaps instead of sound slumber and tonight it was shortly after 2:00 am that he instinctively opened his eyes and watched and listened to everything and everyone around him. And then he heard what had alerted his sixth sense. A group was approaching him. He thought there were probably four, maybe five. And then he heard a shoe scrape the ground as it was raised back and he got ready.

The foot, aimed at Callen's head, was swung so strongly that when Callen caught it, he easily upended its owner who landed heavily on the sidewalk with the wind knocked out of him. His three companions then converged on their target, but by then Callen had gotten to his feet. Two of the men were physically larger, but infinitely slower, and Callen was able to take out both of them in less than five minutes. When the larger of the men moved in, Callen caught him with a knee to the groin followed by a blow behind his ear. He lost consciousness immediately. The second man charged at Callen in an effort to corral him, but Callen sidestepped him at the last second and with a single blow to the back of the head put him to sleep. When the fourth man moved in, Callen made a move to his left to get in position to land a kidney punch, but he didn't anticipate the blow from the man sleeping immediately in front of him in the queue. Callen's legs were knocked out from under him by a body block, but he landed on his back, so he could still use his fists. The fourth assailant tried a kick, but Callen grabbed his leg. The body blocker slammed his fist into Callen's ribs, and Callen grimaced but managed to raise the leg he held high enough to throw its owner off balance and hit the sidewalk with a dull thud. Callen then turned his attention to the body blocker only to find that he was unconscious. Deeks was kneeling next to his inert body and looked at Callen with just a touch of irritation. "I'd finally gotten to sleep."

Callen simply shrugged, "Don't look at me. I didn't start it." He then stood up and looked closer at the guys sprawled on the sidewalk. Some of the other men in the queue glanced in their direction, but nobody else intervened or even seemed interested. Most of them never even looked up. "Fights happen," was all Callen said as he grabbed his duffle and moved out of the queue to a less crowded location further down the sidewalk. Deeks stepped in beside him.

"So, what do you think brought this on?" Deeks asked as they sat down and faced the street, leaning against a stucco wall. "Wait, did you dump water on somebody else today because that would explain it."

"I did not, but even if I had," Callen replied, "I would think that would engender gratitude not violence. After all, didn't you feel grateful?"

"I felt a lot of things," Deeks said with a smile, "but grateful wasn't one of them." And then his expression became serious. "Why do you think you were targeted," he paused before continuing, "because you were targeted. I mean, they came directly at you."

Callen considered for a second. "I don't know. Maybe they wanted my duffle."

"They didn't make a grab for it," Deeks countered and then paused. "Do you think you've been made?"

"How would I have been made?" Callen asked, a little annoyed by the question.

"I don't know. Maybe when you met up with Sam."

"No. No one paid us any attention, and the only person who followed me there was you, so unless you said something you shouldn't have, I'm good."

Deeks let out a sigh and stared up at the sky. He didn't want to push it, but it bothered him. "Okay, maybe it was just a random attack, but I still think it's strange."

Callen looked at him with an expression of disbelief. "We've been on Skid Row for two days, and this is the only thing you find strange?" He paused and then looked at him askance. "Have you heard your conversations?"

"First of all, I didn't say this was the only thing I find strange, and second, that's not me taking part in those conversations, it's Artie."

"Okay, Artie," Callen said as he arranged his duffle as his pillow and stretched out on the sidewalk, "Jim needs to get some shut eye before sunup. Tomorrow's a big day."

Deeks looked at Callen and saw that the conversation was over, so he got up and wandered back in the direction of his buddies across from the queue. Callen watched Deeks for a few seconds and then gazed up at the sky. He had a bad feeling about what had happened tonight, but he wasn't willing to throw away this op based on a feeling. He wracked his brain to try and remember anything that might have happened that could have alerted someone that he wasn't really Jim Matti, homeless vet, but he couldn't think of a wrong step or action or conversation. Nothing stood out, and that was what bothered him the most. He would have to be extra alert at the pick up tomorrow. If anything happened, Callen knew any injuries would be the least of his worries. He'd have to deal with Sam.

When Deeks reached the group he'd captivated in conversation earlier that evening, he didn't stop. He continued past them, and in a few minutes, he was leaning against the door of the Audi talking to Kensi.

Her expression was one of concern as she listened to Deeks' narrative of the night's events. "I don't like it," she said. "I don't believe in coincidences, especially during an op."

"I don't like it either," Deeks said with a shake of his head, "but Callen isn't willing to call off the op because of a coincidence." They were both silent a moment before Kensi spoke again.

"We have to tell Sam."

"He's really not going to like it," Deeks said even though he agreed that they had to tell him, and then he started back to his spot on the sidewalk.

Kensi called after him softly, "Deeks, watch your back and watch Callen's." Her eyes followed him as he disappeared around the corner, and then she rolled up the window and worried until Sam joined her just as the sun came up.


	13. Chapter 13

_This is a VERY short chapter, but I wanted this scene to stand alone._

Chapter 13

Later that morning Sam leaned up against the fence outside Gladys Park. In a few minutes, Callen entered the park, walked over behind Sam, and leaned his back against the fence.

"I don't like it, G."

"No good morning, how are you?"

Sam wasn't in a joking mood. "I don't like it."

Callen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It could just be a coincidence. Fights break out all the time on Skid Row."

"You believe that?"

There was a long pause. Callen had never lied to Sam, and he wasn't going to start now. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't know if it's a coincidence or something more."

"By 'something more' you mean that you might have been made, that your cover's been blown."

"Maybe, but how or when?"

"I don't know. I haven't been here 24/7. But I don't like it. The timing is too suspicious, G."

The silence hung between them for several minutes. Callen watched an elderly homeless man struggle to push his trash-laden shopping cart across the park while a younger woman watched two children play hopscotch on the blacktop. Sam watched two addicts make a score and then followed the dealer as he stepped up to a car that had stopped to buy. The seedy underbelly of the city where the only thing you knew for sure was that everybody here had a life that went wrong and nobody here thought that this would be the place they called home was not where he wanted to be if things went wrong.

Callen turned around and moved slightly to his right so that he was now looking out at the street. "Look, Sam," he said quietly, "we're after the murderer of Tate, and we may be able to catch the persons who murdered the vets and others involved in illegal activity. We can't shut the op down because of a coincidence or because we think I might have been made." Still, Sam wasn't convinced. Callen could tell, and if he couldn't convince Sam that the op should go ahead, then they'd have to close it down because any doubt or hesitation would make it more dangerous for all of them.

"Look, G, I know what's at stake. I also know when something's not right. You know it too." He didn't look at Callen, but Sam's voice betrayed his emotion. He continued, "Why you? You've been under the radar. If anyone should have been targeted, it should have been Deeks. Artie's so annoying there are times I've been tempted to shut him up. But they didn't go after him, they went after you—an undercover federal agent. It doesn't feel right."

"I agree, Sam. It doesn't feel right," Callen admitted. "But it could be just a freaky coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences," Sam said with a touch of anger, "and neither do you." He paused and then turned to look at Callen. "What if I was the one undercover, G? What would you do if it was me?"

Callen answered without flinching and without hesitation, "I'd let you make the call, Sam, because I trust you. I always have." A few beats went by before he continued, "That's why I think you should make the call now."

Their eyes locked. "You want me to be responsible, G?"

"No. I want you to be comfortable."

A moment passed. "If I say to shut it down, you'll shut it down, no argument?"

"If you say to shut it down, I'll get in the Challenger right now, and we'll find some other way to catch Tate's killer."

"You're not getting in my car until you clean yourself up," Sam said with a look of mock disgust.

"Okay, I'll ride with Kensi."

"She already has one bum in her car."

"Alright," Callen said with a smirk, "then how do you propose I get back to Ops?"

Sam took a second and then he grinned, "You can take the subway, G."

Callen's expression of disbelief was echoed by his words, "You know I hate taking the subway."

Sam laughed a little and then his grin faded. "G, you haven't convinced me that this op hasn't been compromised, but suspicions aren't enough to convince me that it has been, either. We have a job to do and a killer to catch."

"So, the op's still on?" Callen asked.

"Until I say it isn't," Sam said and he meant it.

"Agree," Callen replied as he stuck his hand through the fence. Sam grasped it and pulled Callen close to the fence.

He said in a low, serious voice, "And you're still going to answer to me if you take any unnecessary risks, G."

G smiled back, "C'mon, I'm not that dumb, Sam. Besides, with the three of you watching my back, how much danger can I be in?"

"Stay on your toes, G," were the last words Sam said as the handshake ended and he left and walked down the street to the Challenger without a backward glance at his partner who stood watching him from the other side and for a moment felt very much alone.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The hours passed slowly. Deeks continued to shadow Callen inconspicuously while Sam and Kensi maintained their overwatch positions. Callen stayed close to Gladys Park never drifting more than a block away. Deeks hovered just outside the fence so that he could maintain a view of Callen as he wandered. Sam, surveying the scene and checking in with Ops at least every fifteen minutes, sat in the Challenger parked at the corner of 5th and Stanford, and Kensi waited at the corner of 6th and Ceres. At 3:45 Deeks would join Kensi in the Audi, and he hoped she had ample provisions of food, water, and organic facial cleansing wipes because he really needed to eat, hydrate, and clean up and he wasn't going to spend another 25¢. He'd already spent $10 in two days and wondered how to list this on his expense report because forty trips to the public toilet seemed a little excessive now that he thought about it. He couldn't let Callen or Sam ever find out about his "visits," and he wasn't even sure if he could trust Kensi. That many trips was a tempting tidbit of blackmail trivia.

"Sam," Eric's voice broke through the street noise. "I picked up a black Expedition SUV with heavily tinted windows coming down 6th. It just passed the old Greyhound station, but it doesn't have the license plate you gave me."

"They might have changed it, Eric. Can you get a shot of the driver?" Sam asked. It was almost 3:30, so the timing was right.

"If it stays on 6th, I should be able to. I'm going to make it stop so that I can get a clear view," and so saying, Eric made sure that the signal at 6th and San Pedro turned red as the SUV approached. He got a clear shot of the driver and sent it to Sam and the others.

"That's Ross," Kensi said as soon as the photo appeared on her phone.

"You got that, Eric?" Sam asked.

"Got it, Sam."

Sam looked at the photo on his phone. "Anyone else with him, Eric?"

Eric studied the photo and enlarged it. "Not in the passenger seat. If someone's with him, they might be in the backseat, but I can't see because the tinting is too dark."

"Okay, let me know if you see anyone else in the vehicle."

"Will do."

"And don't lose him," Sam said again.

"If he goes into an alley, I won't be able to see him," Eric said with a touch of exasperation and anxiety.

"I know," Sam replied, "but don't lose him."

In Ops, Eric sighed and gave Nell a look that said, "Help me." She reached out, touched his knee, and said quietly, "You won't lose him, Eric. He can't escape Beale."

Eric gave her a little smile and turned back to his screen. "Sam, he's turning south on San Pedro St."

"South? You sure?" Sam sounded surprised. "That's away from the alley where the delivery's going to be made."

"I'm sure," Eric confirmed. "He turned south."

"You still have eyes on him, Eric?"

"I do," Eric replied. "He's now turning east on 7th."

Kensi offered a theory. "Maybe he's surveying the neighborhood before making the delivery."

"Could be," Sam agreed.

"Sam, he's turning into an alley off 7th, and there are no cameras in that alley."

"Where's the alley?" Sam asked doing his best to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"Between Towne and Crocker."

Sam paused for just a moment. "Okay, Eric, let us know when he leaves and pick him up."

It was now 3:45, and Deeks stood outside the Audi waiting for Kensi to unlock the door. He started to grow impatient and was about to say something when she rolled down her window and tossed a package over the roof toward the sidewalk. He caught it, smiled, and pulled out a wad of organic facial cleansing wipes.

Eric's voice interrupted Sam's thoughts as he waited in the Challenger, "Sam, the SUV just left the alley and turned north on Towne."

"Okay, Eric. Kensi, Deeks, it looks like the delivery's going down. Look sharp," Sam said as he turned his eyes to the north end of the alley. Kensi and Deeks—now considerably cleaner after using 30 cleansing wipes vigorously—watched the south end of the alley.

"Sam," Deeks said, "Callen's entering the alley."

"Copy that," Sam replied. Something tugged at his mind, but he couldn't grab hold of it. He felt as though he'd missed something, but while he was still sifting through the events of the past few days, Callen's voice interrupted his train of thought.

Callen spoke in a low voice, but his voice came through clearly. "There are four guys in the alley." He paused. "Kenz, is Deeks with you?"

Surprised, Kensi replied in the affirmative and looked at Deeks with raised eyebrows. "Why?" she asked.

"One of the guys is mumbling to himself, and his coat looks a lot like Artie's."

Deeks responded with a slightly offended tone, "Okay, I don't talk to myself. Artie does, and he left the area fifteen minutes ago."

"You don't talk to yourself, Deeks? Really?" Callen asked with sarcastic disbelief.

Kensi smiled and Deeks looked mildly insulted, but Sam's voice broke the levity, "G, what are the guys in the alley doing?"

"Well, Sam, Artie's clone is mumbling and wandering, another guy is rummaging through a dumpster, and the other two seem to be sleeping although how anyone can sleep with this stench is beyond my comprehension," Callen said as he moved further into the alley toward the 5th Street entrance. "They look harmless, but I can interrogate them to be sure," he continued and Sam could picture him smiling.

"Don't smile, G," Sam said with a slight hint of irritation. "Looks can be deceiving." He hesitated. "Maybe Artie should join you."

"What?" came out of Deeks mouth before Kensi could elbow jab him in the ribs.

"Look sharp." Sam's voice cut through the joking as the SUV reached the north end of the alley and entered.

"You're out of luck, Artie," Callen told Deeks, "because my appointment has arrived."

"Kensi, Deeks," Sam said, "when the SUV leaves the alley, don't lose it. I'll follow Callen."

"We've got him," Kensi replied as she and Deeks kept their eyes fixed on the south end of the alley.

The SUV pulled into the alley slowly, drove forward about 20 feet, and then parked. No one exited, and Callen noticed that the engine was still running. He walked up to the driver side window. After a few seconds, the window was lowered and Ross looked out at Callen. "Jim Matti?" he asked.

"That's me," Callen replied casually and stepped closer. "You have some things for me to deliver?"

"I do."

"The guy who contacted me said you were going to pay me," Callen said and waited.

Ross smiled, "I am. Two hundred dollars. Not bad for a few hours work."

Callen didn't smile. "When?"

Still smiling, Ross said, "When you make the delivery."

"How do I know I'll get paid?"

"How do I know you'll make the delivery?" Ross replied.

"Good point," Callen said, "but what would I do with a bunch of toys and crap from Mexico?"

"True," Ross conceded. "You don't look like the type to play with toys. Or crap."

"I'm not," Callen said and his voice reflected impatience. "But I am the type who needs $200."

"I know and I really appreciate you making this delivery because I like giving back to vets like you."

"Thanks," Callen replied with just a hint of sarcasm. He paused and looked past Ross to the backseat. "Your guy said there were two of you. Where's your buddy?"

"He had to take care of some other business. I'm picking him up later," Ross replied easily.

Sam cut in, "You catch that Kensi? Ross is picking Xavier up later. We want both of them."

"We heard, Sam," Kensi said.

"What if he's picking him up in San Diego?" Deeks asked and Kensi scowled at him and gave him the "hush" sign. He shrugged and whispered, "It's a legitimate question."

Ignoring Deeks, Sam replied, "You know what to do, Kensi."

"We've got it," she said and jabbed Deeks before he could offer his two cents.

Back in the alley, Callen scanned the backseat and asked, "Where's the stuff you want me to deliver?"

"It's in a large duffle bag in the back. I'll pop the liftgate for you," Ross said and reached over to push the mechanism while Callen walked to the back of the SUV. Callen stood a foot from the liftgate. Ross exited the car and came and stood next to him. Now Callen needed to watch Ross and the cargo area. As the liftgate rose slowly, he could see a large duffle bag, apparently packed with a lot of merchandise, resting almost against the liftgate in the cargo area. Just then, Ross tripped slightly and fell into Callen, putting him slightly off balance. "Sorry," Ross said while straightening up.

"Don't worry about it," Callen said as he righted himself. Ross stood next to Callen as he waited for the liftgate to go up higher, but it stopped after rising about three feet, so he reached down to grab the handles of the duffle bag. When he did, a hand reached out from the cargo area and grabbed his wrist. Ross threw a hand over Callen's mouth and the liftgate was shoved up, hitting Callen's chin, as the hand gripping his wrist wrenched his arm forward. Before Callen could react, he felt a sharp sting as Xavier thrust a needle into his right bicep.


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks to everyone for your reviews. This story has changed directions a couple of times, so it's been interesting for me to write. At times, it seems to have a mind of its own. lol_

Chapter 15

As Ross and Xavier dragged Callen's body behind a dumpster, Ross continued talking to him as though Callen were conscious.

"Wait until we leave the alley, Jim, and then make your way to the Pershing Square Metro. Here's the delivery address. You'll get paid when you make the delivery. Thanks again, Jim," Ross said as he and Xavier left Callen's inert body, got into the SUV, and drove out of the alley onto 6th Street.

"Kensi, Deeks, let me know when Ross has cleared the alley and stay with him. Pick them up after he picks up Xavier. I'll follow Callen."

The SUV turned right onto 6th and then left onto Gladys, and Kensi pulled away from the curb as it turned the corner. "Sam, we've got Ross; he's turned onto Gladys."

The Challenger started toward the alley. "G, what's the delivery address?" There was no response. Before Sam could ask the question a second time, Eric, who was still observing Ross as he made his way out of Skid Row, cut in.

"Sam, Ross has a passenger with him."

"Is it Callen?" Sam asked, worry beginning to creep into his voice.

"No, Sam, it's Xavier."

The Challenger roared into the alley and came to a screeching stop as Sam jumped out. "Kensi, stop Ross now!"

Kensi didn't need to be told twice. She crushed the gas pedal and moved up on the SUV that had turned right onto 7th Street. Ross, checking his rearview mirror, saw the fast-approaching Audi and accelerated in response. "Kensi, he's heading for the 101," Deeks noted as both cars swerved through traffic across the L.A. River in a race toward the freeway on-ramp.

Meanwhile, Sam scoured the alley. He found Callen's body behind the second dumpster. He was face down on broken cardboard boxes. Sam knelt down and turned Callen over onto his back. "Eric, send an ambulance to the alley now. Kensi, do you have Ross?"

Both the Audi and the SUV had merged onto the crowded 101 freeway. "Not yet," Deeks said as he glanced at Kensi.

"You need to get him now, and I need him alive" Sam said with his most urgent voice as he checked Callen. There was no blood, no obvious sign of injury, but Callen was unresponsive. His breathing was shallow, his pulse almost undetectable, and when Sam checked Callen's eyes, his pupils were so small they could barely be detected within the incandescent blue irises. Sam tore off Callen's shirt and checked his torso until he found the injection site. And then Callen's heart stopped. Sam laid his open palms, one on top of the other, on Callen's chest over his heart and pushed. And pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

"Eric, where the hell's that ambulance! Kensi, you need to get Ross now!"

Kensi and Deeks heard the desperation in Sam's voice and knew that he was losing Callen. Kensi looked at Deeks; he had not seen her this angry and defiant since Ferris. "Oh, hell, no," she said and threw Deeks a look that told him to hold on. The freeway was crowded and traffic was averaging no more than 50 mph, but even at 50 mph—and Deeks was sure Kensi was trying to build up their speed—he wasn't looking forward to what was coming, but he said nothing. She wove in and out of traffic dangerously to reach the SUV which was taking evasive action. When she pulled up next to it, Ross rolled down his window and Xavier leaned across and punctuated the air with bullets. Deeks ducked and then returned fire. Kensi dropped back a bit and Deeks took aim at the tires. When he hit one of the rear tires, Kensi hit the gas and rammed the SUV on its left rear bumper. The collision spun the SUV and caused it to shoot across two lanes of traffic, the driver's door slamming into the rear of a pickup truck and then spinning off across another lane until it came to a stop on the outer emergency shoulder facing oncoming traffic. Kensi and Deeks climbed out of the Audi, which now blocked oncoming traffic in the second lane. The SUV driver's door was crushed and couldn't be opened, but the driver's window shattered as Ross fired several rounds at the Audi. Kensi took cover behind the Audi's hood while Deeks made his way to the back. Traffic had slowed when the accident occurred, but with the sound of gunfire, traffic came to a complete standstill. Xavier took a position at the rear of the SUV and after firing several rounds in the general direction of Deeks, he took off down the emergency shoulder toward the nearest off-ramp. Deeks gave chase while Kensi sprinted across the empty traffic lane as Ross reloaded. She yanked open the passenger door behind the driver and touched her pistol to Ross' head. "It's been a long couple of days. You move, I shoot."

In the alley, Sam had not stopped pushing Callen's chest, and he was so absorbed in trying to keep Callen's heart beating that he didn't even notice the arrival of the ambulance. A paramedic took Sam's place, and worked to revive Callen's heartbeat. "He's been injected with something," Sam said as he stood up. "We're trying to find out what, but I think it was probably an opiate or combination." And then Sam turned away. He couldn't watch someone else he loved die, not so soon after Michelle.

Why had he let the op continue? He felt, he knew, that G had been compromised, but he let the op go ahead. Now if G died, he would be responsible for the deaths of two people he loved. His whole mind felt numb, his whole body was exhausted. He didn't think he could make these decisions anymore.

"Sam, we've got Ross and Xavier," Kensi said. "What do you need?"

"I need to know what they injected G with," Sam said as he watched the paramedics getting Callen ready to transport.

Kensi turned to Ross. "What did you inject Agent Callen with?"

Ross looked at her without expression. "Lawyer."

She turned to Xavier whose face bore the scrapes he'd gotten when Deeks tackled him and brought him down on the asphalt. "What did you inject Agent Callen with?"

Xavier looked at Ross—who stood expressionless—and then at Kensi. "I don't know. Honestly."

"Well," Deeks said, "ignorance is no excuse, so if Agent Callen dies, you'll both be looking at the death penalty."

"Sam, they're not talking, but I'm betting the duffle bag is filled with it. We'll check it and let you know as soon as we can."

"Thanks. Good job, you two."

Kensi looked at Deeks and hesitated, "How's Callen?"

At that moment, the paramedics were loading him into the ambulance. "I'll let you know as soon as I know," Sam said before turning to the paramedics. "We don't know what they injected him with."

"We think it's probably an opiate. We've treated too many with the same symptoms, so we administered naloxone. It won't harm him if the drug wasn't an opiate, but it might keep him alive if it was," said the paramedic who would be riding in the back. "It's good you kept at it with his heart. He'd be dead now if you hadn't," he told Sam as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. "We're taking him to USC." He paused and then asked, "Do you want to ride with him?"

Sam looked at Callen, pale and lifeless on the gurney, hooked up with fluids and oxygen and shook his head. "I'll check in on him later." As the paramedic began to close the door, Sam stopped him. "Make sure he doesn't die. Please."

The paramedic looked into Sam's eyes for just a second—there were no guarantees—and then turned his attention to his patient and his partner closed the door. In a few seconds the ambulance left the alley with its siren blaring. Sam watched it go and then stood motionless, lost in his thoughts, until one of the homeless men touched his arm. Sam turned to him and the man's eyes showed he understood. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said.

"Thank you," Sam said quietly. The man started to walk off, but Sam laid his hand on his arm and when the man turned around, Sam asked, "Did you see what happened to him?"

"The men in the car drug him behind the dumpster and left him." He looked over at the dumpster and became silent. "Even dumpsters aren't safe anymore," he stated matter-of-factly looking past Sam and then turned and began walking down the alley toward 6th Street. As Sam watched him, the idea he hadn't been able to grab hold of earlier that day suddenly seemed more tangible and it cut through his feelings of guilt. He called Eric.

"Yes, Sam."

"Eric, I need you to check footage of the alley between Towne and Crocker after Ross left it today."

"What am I looking for, Sam?"

"You're looking for someone leaving, I'm guessing a few minutes after Ross left."

He walked back to the Challenger and got in while Eric ran through the footage.

"Someone did leave the alley, Sam."

"Do you have a photo?"

"Not a clear one. The person's wearing sunglasses and a hat," Eric said as he sent the photo to Sam's phone. "He's also pulling a large duffle bag." Sam looked closely at the photo.

"I need an address, Eric," Sam said quietly. Back in Ops, Eric and Nell exchanged glances. Sam called Kensi as he headed out of the alley.

"Kensi, are Ross and Xavier talking yet?"

"Not a word," she said and sounded slightly exasperated. "And there were no drugs in the duffle bag."

"I didn't think there would be," Sam said. "You and Deeks take them to the boatshed."

"We're just waiting for transport, Sam."

"What happened to the Audi?" he asked.

"Let's just say," Deeks cut in, "that Kensalina had a tiny little fender bender." And he looked at the SUV being hooked up to the tow truck, the Audi—its front end crumpled—being pushed to the outside shoulder by a CHP squad car, and the pickup truck's owner speaking with a officer.

There was an uncomfortable silence, but finally Kensi broke it and asked, "Sam, how's Callen?"

"I'll let you know when I know."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Sam pulled up in front of the apartment about twenty minutes later and waited. He was sure the sale was going down only it wouldn't be a homeless veteran making the delivery. The car was still parked on the street; either the buyers were coming or the seller was going. He'd wait a few more minutes. He checked his phone for the sixth time; no call from the hospital. When he looked up, the person and the duffle bag emerged from the ground floor apartment, got in the car, and drove away. Sam called Eric and then followed at a discreet difference. "Eric, I'm in Pasadena, heading north on Los Robles. The black Honda Civic is about 100 feet ahead of me. I'm following, but I want you to track it."

Eric immediately got to work checking area traffic cameras. He picked up the Honda as it crossed Del Mar Avenue. "I've got him, Sam."

"Good."

Sam followed the Honda as it crossed Colorado, turned right onto Walnut, left onto Lake, and took the 210 freeway on-ramp going east. There was no indication that the Challenger had been spotted, so when the Honda got off in Duarte on Irwindale, Sam kept it within view. It drove a few blocks east on Foothill and then turned onto one of the side streets and parked in an industrial area outside a warehouse. This was the territory of the Duarte Crips. Sam wasn't surprised to see a street gang as the partner in this drug operation. The Honda's driver got out. Sam hadn't seen the driver load the duffle into the car, but when the driver lifted it out, Sam could see that it weighed probably between 40-50 pounds. The driver and the duffle disappeared into the warehouse. In about five minutes, a souped up 1960 Chevy Chevelle lowrider and a 2015 Toyota Corolla drove up, parked, and its six occupants exited, but they weren't members of the Duarte Crips. From their tats and their colors, they were members of the Piru Street Family out of Compton. Four of them joined the driver in the warehouse while two of them stationed themselves as lookouts. Sam needed to get near those cars. He took off his shirt and put on the tank he kept in the pocket behind his seat. He backed up without being seen and drove around the block. When he reached the warehouse, he pulled the Challenger over, leaned out, and spoke to the lookouts. "Yo, homies, mind if I check out your wheels? I'm a Chevy man, and that's one tricked out shagging wagon."

One of the lookouts, who was short and evidently visited the gym daily, moved toward Sam, his hand tucked inside a jacket pocket. "You from around here, boy?"

Sam cocked his head and smiled, "Hell, no, junior."

The comment didn't sit well with the lookout, but his companion found it amusing, and he was evidently in charge. "Junior, let the man look at the car. He's right; she's sweet." He looked past Sam at the Challenger, "And your car ain't no ugly bitch."

"I wouldn't drive no ho, my man," Sam said as he sauntered up to the Chevelle, being careful to show admiration and respect in his attitude. "1965?"

"All original."

"Classic." He started to bend down and then stood up. "Mind if I check out the shocks?"

"Nah, man. Go ahead. They're custom."

Sam bent down and checked the shocks and planted the tracker. He stood up and smiled, "A thing of beauty, bro. Thanks for letting me check her out. I haven't seen anything as beautiful in quite awhile."

"Then you haven't seen my dimepiece, bro," the guy in charge said with a smile as Sam made his way back to the Challenger, got in, and drove away around the block and back to his surveillance spot. He changed into his regular shirt and waited.

About ten minutes later, Sam heard four gunshots coming from the warehouse, and then the four men who'd gone in reappeared, one of them with a large swath of bloody fabric tied around his thigh. They had the duffle bag with them and threw it into the trunk of the Chevelle. As they drove away, Sam called Eric. "Eric, bring up tracker B5. Pass the coordinates to LAPD and the DEA; they'll find a large cache of drugs in the trunk."

"Got it, Sam," Eric said and paused. "Do you need backup?"

"No," was all he said. Then he drove the Challenger to the warehouse, parked, got out, and went in.

She was conscious, lying on the floor of the warehouse with two bullets in her thigh and one in her abdomen. Sam walked over and kicked the gun away from her.

"How did you know?" Mary asked.

He looked at her wrist. "Your watch. It's unique."

She smiled slightly. "That's ironic. Aaron gave me this watch."

"I guess you're not Mary Poppins anymore," Sam said.

"I haven't been Mary Poppins for years, but Aaron never saw past the high school girl he'd known."

"So you killed him."

"No, I didn't. I told my partners he was getting curious. They thought that might be a problem, so they took care of him."

"What did you inject Agent Callen with?"

"The autopsy will give you the answer."

"He's not dead," Sam said with a conviction he didn't feel, but he wasn't going to let her see how worried he was. He wasn't going to make himself vulnerable.

"That's surprising. He should be," she said with a smile, and Sam took a step toward her. She flinched. "What are you going to do, Agent Hanna? Shoot me?"

"No," Sam said is his quiet, soothing voice as he squatted near her and looked her straight in the eye, "I'm going to watch you die."

She held his gaze for a few moments and then realized that he was telling the truth—he was going to watch her die. She struggled to get up, but fell back down. She was bleeding badly from her abdomen and her thigh was aching. She began to crawl across the warehouse floor toward the door, leaving streaks of blood behind her. Sam stood up and watched her in silence. After she'd crawled about twenty feet, she stopped, exhausted from the effort. She turned to him, "I thought you were one of the good guys."

Sam's expression didn't change, "I am."

"Then call an ambulance!"

"Tell me what you injected Agent Callen with."

If she told him, she was admitting that she drugged him; if she didn't, she would die on this warehouse floor. "A combination of fentynal, heroin, and carfentanil."

Now Sam's adrenalin kicked in, but he held himself in check. "How much?" She hesitated. "How much?"

"I don't know. I think about 5,000 mg, maybe 7,000."

Sam pulled out his phone and called Eric, "Eric, call the hospital, Callen was injected with between 5,000-7,000 mg of a combination of fentynal, heroin, and carfentanil."

"Got it, Sam," and before Eric could tell him that the LAPD and DEA were following the tracker, Sam had hung up.

Mary smiled a little as she waited for Sam to call the ambulance. "At my trial when I tell them how you made me suffer with three gunshot wounds and threatened to let me die when I was unarmed, I wouldn't be surprised if you lose your badge and I get off with a very light sentence."

Sam came over to her and looked down. His expression showed no compassion, no sympathy, no gentleness. His expression showed nothing. "That would probably be true if you were going to trial."

Her face became paler and she looked at Sam with fear and anger, "You said you'd call an ambulance."

"I lied," he said without emotion. He squatted down just out of arm's reach. "You killed four men."

"I didn't kill anyone," she interrupted, but he continued.

"And you might have killed five, my partner. And I don't even care why you did what you did. It was probably the same reason so many people deal drugs—they want money, more things, respect, power. I don't care. All I care is that you won't be doing any of those things anymore. You won't hurt anyone else. That's justice."

She didn't reply. Her eyes, still open, were lifeless. Sam reached over and felt for a pulse. It was very faint, and in a few minutes it would be gone. He stood up and as he left the warehouse, he called Eric and told him that he had found a body.


	17. Chapter 17

_This is another short chapter because I wanted this scene to be on its own. As always, thanks for the reviews!_

Chapter 17

Sam had called the hospital immediately after leaving the warehouse, but the doctor wanted to speak to him in person. Sam couldn't tell if that was good or bad, but he hoped with all his heart that it was good. On his way, Sam called Kensi who was still at the boatshed with Deeks and their two detainees. "Kensi, Ross or Xavier talking yet?"

"Nope," she replied as she stepped out of the interrogation room to take his call. "Ross lawyered up on the freeway, and Xavier seems too afraid of somebody to say anything useful."

"Tell Xavier Mary's dead."

There was stunned silence on the other end. "Mary, as in Mary Poplawski? From the volunteer center?"

"Yes. I'll explain it when I get back if Xavier doesn't before then. Anyway, that information might get him talking."

"I'm sure it'll help, Sam," Kensi said and then asked the question she'd wanted to ask first when Sam called. "Any news about Callen?"

Sam didn't answer for a moment because the words were difficult, "No news. I'm on my way to the hospital."

"He'll pull through, Sam. He always does," said Kensi and wished her voice carried more conviction than she heard in it herself.

"I'll call you when I know something," was all Sam said before he hung up.

Kensi went back into the interrogation room and sat down in the chair across the table from Xavier. Deeks stood in the corner. "So, Xavier," Kensi stated bluntly and with mock surprise, "my colleague just told me that Mary's dead." Deeks let out a low whistle and walked over and stood next to Kensi.

"It looks like you're on your own, Xavier." Deeks leaned across the table and stared into Xavier's eyes, "This might be a good time to start talking."

Sam made his way to the ICU. He hated hospitals. He didn't hate the doctors or the nurses, but the buildings he hated: sterile, impersonal, emotionless. His steps echoed as he strode through the corridor heavy with the smell of antiseptic. When Sam entered the ICU, he went directly to the nurse's station. As he gave his name, a doctor approached.

"Agent Hanna?"

Sam turned. "Yes."

"This way, please," he said as he turned and headed for a room at the other end of the unit. Sam followed in silence. When the doctor reached the door, he stopped and waited before opening the door. "First, Agent Hanna, I want you to know that the information you gave us—the types of drugs and the approximate amounts—was very useful. In fact, it probably saved your partner's life." The doctor paused and Sam waited silently. The doctor continued, "The drugs and the amounts were lethal, so we had to take extraordinary measures." Sam prepared himself mentally and emotionally for the worst possible news, but still he said nothing. The doctor waited for him to say something, ask a question, but when he saw that Sam was not going to speak, he tried to ease the tension by laying a hand on Sam's arm. "We had to put Agent Callen in a medically-induced coma to ease the pressure on his brain caused by the reaction to the drugs." Sam's expression didn't change and when the doctor finished speaking, Sam opened the door and walked into the room. The doctor followed.

Sam went to the bed where Callen lay, an IV attached to each arm and a ventilator tube inserted. His mind flashed back to that May when Callen had been shot, put on life support, and Sam watched by his bedside five days straight until Hetty had insisted he go home and rest. The doctor came over and stood next to Sam without speaking for a few moments. Without taking his eyes off his partner, Sam spoke to the doctor, "You said the coma was medically-induced."

"That's correct. We induced a coma to relieve the pressure that was building in his brain due to adverse reactions to the drugs."

Sam listened to the explanation while his eyes never left Callen. The monitor, the tubing, and the IVs made Callen look as lifeless as Sam felt. He had to ask and the doctor knew he had to ask, but when he finally asked, Sam couldn't look at the doctor. "Was there brain damage?"

The doctor studied the floor for a moment before answering. "We don't know, Agent Hanna, and we won't know until he comes out of his coma."

"But there could be."

"Yes, it's possible that there could be some, a little, a lot . . . but it's just as possible that there could be none."

Sam reached out and touched Callen's arm. There was no reaction but he didn't expect any. He left his hand resting on Callen's arm while he spoke with the doctor. "How long will you leave him in the coma?"

"Often patients are kept in medically-induced comas for about six hours. Due to the amount of drugs and the types of drugs Agent Callen was injected with, we're going to keep him in this condition for at least 24 hours. We'll be monitoring his vital signs and evaluating his condition regularly during that time."

"I want to be here when you wake him up."

The doctor hesitated before responding—he knew how family often reacted, how traumatic it could be when a loved one had brain damage, especially if the damage was severe. "Agent Hanna, there's no guarantee . . . ."

Sam cut him off with a look that told the doctor Sam wasn't making a request.

"I'll make sure that you're called, Agent Hanna."

"If his condition changes—for better or worse—you call me immediately, no matter the time."

"We will," the doctor said quietly and waited while Sam, his hand still resting on Callen's arm, turned back to his partner.

He smiled slightly as he spoke, "Took Aiden for a ride in Jennifer the other day. She rides like a dream, G, probably better than Charlene would have. Must be all the work I put in her. Aiden asked if he could have her. I told him that since she was a gift to me, I'd have to ask Uncle Callen if he'd mind if I gave his gift away, even to my son." He paused. "I still need to ask you, so I can give Aiden an answer." Sam then covered his eyes with his other hand and bowed his head. After a minute of silence, he leaned down close to Callen. His voice caught as he whispered, "You said you would always be here for me, G. I'm holding you to that . . . ." He placed a hand on Callen's slightly rumpled hair, left it there for just a moment, and then turned away so suddenly that he almost knocked the doctor over. He muttered, "Sorry," and left the room without looking back.


	18. Chapter 18

_I have to admit, this story seems to have a life of its own. I thought I would have finished it by now, so I hope readers don't mind that it's taking a little longer to wrap up._

Chapter 18

Sam walked into OSP exhausted, mentally and emotionally, to find Hetty waiting for him.

"How's our boy, Mr. Hanna?" Her voice was soft and steady. Sam knew her feelings of worry, anxiety, and helplessness equaled his own, but she revealed her emotions less frequently than Sam and even less than Callen, if that was possible.

Sam's eyes scanned the room before they looked into Hetty's. "They've put G in a medically-induced coma," he said. Hetty closed her eyes and he heard the whisper of a sigh.

"I see. And how long do they plan to keep him in this condition?"

"At least 24 hours." Sam knew she wanted more information, deserved more information, but he found himself fighting against the suggestion that if he repeated what the doctor said, he would be tempting fate. Callen had a thing about being "jinxed." Maybe it was the Romani in him. In the past, Sam had made a comment or two that Callen considered a jinx. Now, Sam found himself worried about saying something that might actually jinx Callen even though Sam knew how illogical that was. Strong emotions cancel out reason almost every time.

Hetty could sense Sam struggling and knew that she had to maintain her composure so that he didn't lose his. Her voice jarred him out of his thoughts. "Mr. Hanna, tell me what the doctor told you, please." She wanted to share his burden. Her hand touched his arm and she said with gentle firmness, "Sam, come sit with me for just a moment." She led the way to the couch on the other side of the bullpen. They sat side-by-side and for quite some time neither said a word. Then Hetty broke the silence.

"Sam, you mustn't blame yourself. What's happened is not your fault, and Mr. Callen's the last one who would want you to feel guilty."

"I should have called the operation off."

"Mr. Callen could have called it off."

"It was my decision."

"If you had called it off, Sam, Mr. Callen would have tried to persuade you to change your mind."

"Maybe."

She glanced up at Sam who was staring straight ahead, his face drained of emotion. "Oh, Sam, you know he would have." She paused as Sam glanced over at her. "And he probably would have succeeded," she said with the faintest of smiles, and then her eyes focused on the distant past. "Mr. Callen is very much like his mother that way, being able to persuade," she said with a touch of sadness.

Sam turned at the melancholy in her voice and saw the tears she would not let fall. He placed a hand on one of hers, and she brought her other hand over, laid it on top of his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Whatever happens, Mr. Hanna, we will get through it. That's what families do."

"That's what families do," Sam replied in acknowledgment and agreement. And then he said abruptly, "G gave me health power of attorney."

"I know, Mr. Hanna," and she nodded slightly when he looked at her in surprise. "I'm the first alternate."

"Of course you are, Hetty." Now that he had brought up the power of attorney issue, Sam felt he could tell Hetty everything the doctor had told him. "The doctor said G might have suffered brain damage."

"I thought that might be the case," Hetty replied, "when you told me they had put him in a medically-induced coma. But," she continued, "he probably also said that he might not have suffered any brain damage."

"He did."

"Sam, there's no point in worrying."

Sam knew she was right, but he couldn't help himself. "Hetty, what if there is brain damage and what if . . . ."

"Sam," and her tone when she spoke to him was the tone he'd often heard her use with Callen—a combination of a mother and a general, a rock and a feather, "if Grisha has suffered irreparable and substantial brain damage, we both know what he would want us to do." Sam, startled to hear Hetty use G's first name, couldn't hide his surprise, and she acknowledged his surprise by a slight tilt of her head. She continued, "Mr. Callen trusts you as much as anyone, probably more than anyone, and he thinks of you as a brother, Sam, but he also knows how big your heart is and that, if the decision to end his life needed to be made, you might not be able to do it. But he knew I could." Now she hesitated and Sam saw the strength and the weariness behind her eyes. "I consider all my agents my children in some degree, Mr. Hanna. I feel their pain, rejoice in their happiness, give gratitude when they return safe, and mourn when they don't. But, I would never let a child of mine, especially Mr. Callen, live a life he did not want when he had given me the power, the responsibility, and the trust to ensure that he didn't."

Suddenly, in Sam's eyes, Hetty looked small and frail and burdened. On impulse, he put his arms around her and hugged her as only he could hug her. She didn't resist, and when the hug was over, she wiped her eyes discreetly and smiled. "No more gloomy talk, Mr. Hanna. We must have only positive thoughts for Mr. Callen. By this time tomorrow, he may be complaining about the amount of paperwork he has to complete." And then she added rather wickedly, "I've always found completing paperwork excellent therapy for agents recently discharged from the hospital."

"You're right, Hetty," Sam said and for the first time that day he actually felt the stress and worry lift a little. "I shouldn't give up on G. The doctors didn't expect him to survive those other times, and there's nothing that says he won't make it through this time."

"Quite right, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said as she stood up from the couch and waited for Sam to join her. "Now, if I were you, I would finish up your current case as quickly as possible. You want to bring those who perpetrated this act to justice, and you want to be there where they waken Mr. Callen."

"You bet I do," Sam said. He looked at Hetty, his gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you, Hetty."

"There's no need to thank me, Mr. Hanna. We both want our boy back home—and we both need to know that he will come home."

Sam gave her another hug—a quick one—and then looking determined and less burdened, turned and headed for the boatshed to wrap up this case. Hetty watched him go and then went back to her desk. She poured herself a cup of cherry blossom and Japanese black tea and reflected on how many more agents she would have to lose—or nearly lose—before she realized that she could not endure another loss, another death. When she finished her tea, Hetty walked out to her Jaguar and set off to spend time with her senior agent while he was still with them.

Sam returned to the boatshed to find that Xavier had talked and talked and talked, but before Kensi would tell him what they'd learned, she wanted news about Callen.

She honed in on him as if he were the last cookie on the plate. "Callen?"

"They won't know for sure for another 24 hours."

"Why not?" Deeks asked as he joined the conversation.

Sam hesitated for a moment, and Kensi could see that talking about Callen made him uncomfortable, so she spoke up and answered Deeks, "It's probably because of the drugs. We'll know in 24 hours." Deeks was going to ask another question, but Kensi shook her head and changed the subject, "You were right. The news about Mary loosened Xavier's lips, but we didn't learn much from him. I don't think he was holding out. I think it's because he really doesn't know much."

"Well," said Sam as he headed for the interrogation room, "let me have a little talk with him and tell him what I know, and then we'll see if that jogs his memory."

Kensi and Deeks watched Sam enter the room, and when the door closed behind him, Deeks turned to Kensi. He started to say, "Callen's condition . . . ," but she interrupted him.

"Let's just focus on the case."

It helped Deeks to talk when he was worried, but talking didn't work for Kensi, so he leaned against the table and watched Xavier squirm as Sam took a seat across from him and began the session.

In a minute, Kensi turned to Deeks, "Callen will pull through. He always does."


	19. Chapter 19

_The other day, a reader asked me what was going to happen in Chapter 19, and I said I didn't know. I wrote the chapter the other night, but it turned out very different today. That's how it's been with this story: I really don't know where it's going._ :)

Chapter 19

"It looks," Deeks said, giving Kensi a sideways glance, "as if Xavier _was_ holding out on us."

"He's a better than average liar," Kensi agreed.

"Well," said Sam as he got a bottle of water out of the frig and took a long swallow, "he's had a lot of practice lately."

Their detainees had left the boatshed about thirty minutes earlier, escorted by fellow agents who would be taking Xavier and Ross to the NCIS lockup for the night. During the night, the higher-ups in the Navy, local law enforcement, and the Justice Department would be haggling over which agency would get first crack at prosecuting them. Inter-agency cooperation being what it was, a final decision could be weeks in coming, but Sam knew that however long the decision took to make, Xavier and Ross would be on their way to some other incarceration destination as soon as the sun rose tomorrow. No one wanted them here, least of all Hetty. And the time it took to make a decision didn't matter; Sam had persuaded Xavier to tell them everything he knew—and it had turned out to be quite a story.

"So, Ross met Mary at a college party, and that led to smuggling drugs. Boy," Deeks said with a whistle, "I thought college parties were wild in my day, but I don't remember anyone turning into Scarface."

"Maybe you just didn't go to the right parties," Sam said with the trace of a smile. "Anyway," he continued, "they met at a college party, but that didn't lead immediately to their drug smuggling operation."

"Xavier said, if I remember correctly," Kensi recalled, "that Ross introduced Mary to drugs at the party and then kept in touch with her after they'd both graduated."

"I think that's right," Deeks said, "but what I don't get is how they met at the party. They didn't even attend the same college."

"True, but the colleges were in the same city," Sam reminded him.

"Of course. So Mary—through her 'volunteer work'—meets some neighborhood drug dealers, and Ross meets Xavier—with his connections in Mexico—when they both end up stationed in San Diego. A drug smuggling business venture was just waiting to be born."

"So," Kensi continued, "Ross contacts Mary who serves as the middleman between the suppliers—Ross and Xavier—and the distributors—the Piru Street Family out of Compton."

"And by keeping the identities of her source and her distributors compartmentalized, she makes her own position essential," Sam added.

"But, unfortunately for them—and more unfortunately for Senior Petty Officer Aaron Tate—Tate, also stationed in San Diego, begins to get suspicious about Ross and Xavier because of their frequent leave requests and trips to Mexico," Deeks said, picking up the story.

"And to make matters worse," Kensi noted, "he reaches out to Mary whom he'd known in high school as 'Mary Poppins' because she was so kind and helpful."

"And when Tate comes up to L.A. to investigate on his own, Mary knows he's going to be a problem, so she lets the Piru Street Family take care of him." Sam shook his head, "In a way, I'm glad Tate never knew Mary had betrayed him. That kind of betrayal does some damage."

Kensi and Deeks knew that Sam was thinking about Callen and his experience with Joelle and mumbled, "That's true" and "It does," and waited while the silence hung heavy. Deeks finally pushed it aside with one last question, "Why use homeless vets as couriers?"

Kensi offered an explanation first, "Probably because homeless veterans are plentiful on Skid Row."

"They're also more reliable, in general, than other homeless," Sam stated, "if they're not suffering from a mental condition. And not many notice when they disappear."

"Plus," Kensi said with a trace of sadness and anger, "they needed the money, and they probably trusted Mary because she worked with the homeless and Ross and Xavier because they were fellow servicemen."

"And that need and that trust got them killed," Deeks said.

"No," Sam corrected him immediately. "It was Mary, and only Mary, who got all of them killed." And the possibility that Callen could be her fifth victim was not lost on any of them.

"You're right, Sam," Deeks said in agreement. "And then she got killed by the Piru Street Family, so there is still some justice in the world."

Sam said nothing for several moments before saying quietly, "Yes, there is still some justice in the world."

"And," Deeks added as a final thought as they headed out, "the DEA and the LAPD rounded up the gang members and the drugs, so there's also karma in the world—and it's a bitch."

xxxxxxx

Sam went back to OSP before going home for the night, and just as he'd hoped, Hetty was still there. He wondered if she ever slept. He walked over and took a seat in front of her and waited silently while she finished up with her work. In a few minutes she had finished it, put it aside, leaned back in her chair, interlaced her fingers, and waited.

"Mr. Hanna, I know you have something on your mind because you're sitting in front of me, but if you don't tell me what it is, I can't help you."

"I'm thinking of calling Aiden. Do you think that's a bad idea?"

"It depends," she replied, looking at him steadily. "Are you calling him to see how he and Kam are doing, or are you calling him to tell him about Mr. Callen?"

"Both."

She pursed her lips and leaned forward, put her elbows on her desk, and rested her chin on her hands. Her gaze didn't waver.

"And you want my opinion."

"I do, Hetty. I want to do what's right," Sam said and his face showed his distress. "I've even thought about flying them both down tomorrow."

"I see. Well, I can't tell you what's right, Sam," she said in a measured, even tone, "but I can give you my opinion." She paused. "And in my opinion, there is no point in telling Aiden or Kam about Mr. Callen's condition, and there is certainly no reason to have them come down tomorrow."

Sam looked almost stricken. "But what if G has significant brain damage? I want Aiden and Kam to have the chance to say goodbye."

Hetty's eyes reflected a depth of feeling Sam seldom saw in them as she leaned toward him. "I understand the dilemma, Sam. But, if for some reason Mr. Callen should have significant brain damage when the doctors awaken him tomorrow, what good would it do for Aiden and Kam to see him? He might not be conscious, and even if he were, he probably wouldn't be cognizant of his surroundings or able to communicate. Would you want your children to see him that way? Would _he_ want your children to see him that way?"

Sam turned his head for a moment, and when he turned back, Hetty saw his eyes shimmering as the tears seeped out until they spilled over and slid slowly down his cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them away.

"Besides, Mr. Hanna, you know how Mr. Callen feels about jinxes," and she gave him a knowing glance. "Tomorrow when the doctors awaken him and he's perfectly fine, what is he going to think if he sees Aiden and Kam standing outside his room waiting to see him?" She waited. "He's going to wonder why you tried to jinx him—yet again—by having your children take time off from school and fly down to see him as though he were at death's door."

Sam chuckled, "You're right about that, Hetty. He always thinks I'm trying to jinx him. If Aiden and Kam were there, he'd probably want a new partner."

"Well, I don't know that he'd go that far." She waited a beat before speaking again. "So, you don't think you'll be telling your children about Mr. Callen's condition or flying them down tomorrow morning?"

"No," Sam sighed but look relieved, "I'm not going to do either. Like you said, Hetty, I'll wait and see what tomorrow brings and make decisions then."

"I think that's a good decision, Mr. Hanna," and she nodded her approval. As Sam got up to leave, she spoke again, "But, Mr. Hanna, there is someone who needs to be called."

Sam turned to her. "Callen's father."

"No, Mr. Hanna, I spoke with Mr. Callen's father myself."

Sam waited, a questioning expression on his face.

"I'd like you to call Anna. I think it might be easier for her if she heard about Mr. Callen's condition from his partner rather than from me, don't you?"

Sam nodded in agreement, "I do. I'll call her tonight."

"Thank you, Mr. Hanna."

Sam turned to leave and Hetty called after him, "Positive thoughts, Mr. Hanna. Positive thoughts."

He turned back, gave her a quick thumbs up, and then picked up his bag and left to go home and make a phone call he would rather not have to make.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The following day found Sam at his desk early, finishing his report. By the time Kensi and Deeks arrived, he was in the gym working off some of the stress he was feeling. He'd spoken with the doctor early this morning—even before coming to work—and had been told that all of Callen's vital signs were stable and that if there were no changes in his condition, the doctors would begin the process of awakening him from his coma later this afternoon. Sam stressed again that he wanted to be present as soon as they began the procedure, and the doctor assured him that he would be called at least one hour before they commenced. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

After showering, Sam returned to his desk and found Deeks and Kensi finishing their reports. They looked up as he approached his desk.

"So, big man, are you getting in late or were you here early?" Deeks asked as he took a sip of coffee.

Sam pointed at his bag on the floor by his desk and his laptop sitting on his desk. "I finished my report almost two hours ago, Deeks."

"So, that would be early then," Deeks said smiling.

Kensi, her voice reflecting the concern in her face, asked, "What's the news about Callen, Sam?"

Sam looked at her and sounded optimistic, "Everything looks good so far."

"That's good," Deeks said as he sat down and took another sip. "They're going to call you?"

"Yes. I told them to be sure and call me before they began the procedure."

"How's Anna doing?" Kensi asked, knowing that this must be a difficult time of waiting and wondering for her, as well. She and Deeks and Sam had each other for support, but Anna—even though she was their friend and Callen's lover—was more isolated and alone.

"She's hard to read. Like Callen," and Sam laughed slightly. "I guess that's one reason they get along so well."

Deeks looked at both of them and raised his eyebrows, "But we all know the real reason they get along so well." And then he made a kissing sound.

"Deeks," Kensi said accompanied by an eye roll.

"I'm just saying what we all know," Deeks offered in his defense.

Sam shook his head. Deeks being Deeks. Kensi, however, was concerned about Anna and repeated her question, "Really, Sam, how's she doing?"

Sam took a moment and wondered how much he should say. Like Callen, Anna was a private person; her feelings were her own, and Sam wasn't sure how much of their conversation last night should be shared, even among friends. He didn't mention that he had gone to see her and deliver the news in person. "I think she's doing as well as can be expected. She's worried, of course. She's hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst."

"Do you think I should call her?"

"I think she'd rather hear from you than from Deeks," Sam said with just the slightest twinkle in his eye, "but I would wait, Kensi, and see how things go today."

"Alright, Sam. When you talk to her, let her know that if she needs anything she can call me, anytime."

"I will," Sam said and then turned to Deeks. "Do you want me to tell Anna that she can call you, too, Deeks?"

"Of course," he said as he leaned back in his chair. "You wouldn't mind if I comforted Anna, would you, Kensalina?"

"I wouldn't mind, but I'm not sure Callen—or even Anna—would be terribly thrilled about that."

"You're probably right. My soulful blue eyes might prove too appealing," he admitted with mock seriousness.

"I thought those only appealed to Kirkin," Kensi said with a wink at Sam.

"I did not see that coming," Deeks grinned broadly and followed with, "Touché."

Sam smiled. The back and forth reduced the stress he felt. And although he had completed and submitted his report, he still had a phone call related to the case that needed to be made. While Deeks and Kensi finished their reports and then headed to the gym for a quick wrestling match, Sam phoned Petty Officer Brown.

She answered the phone on the third ring. "Petty Officer Brown."

"Petty Office Brown, this is Agent Hanna from the NCIS office in Los Angeles. I just wanted to let you know that we've apprehended the persons responsible for Senior Petty Officer Tate's murder."

It was a few moments before she responded, and when she did, he heard relief and satisfaction in her voice, "Thank you, Agent Hanna, and please thank Agents Callen and Kolcheck for me. That is wonderful news. I appreciate you letting me know."

"I'm glad we could give you the good news, Petty Officer."

He hung up and hoped that he would have his own good news before the end of the day. And then his cell rang. He answered it at once, "Agent Hanna." When the call ended, Sam quickly packed up his laptop and gathered his things. He looked up to see Hetty approaching.

"You'll let me know, Mr. Hanna, as soon as there is news of Mr. Callen's condition, good or bad."

"Of course, Hetty."

"Mr. Callen will come through this, Mr. Hanna. Just hold to that thought," she said with conviction and watched Sam turn and leave OSP to be by his partner's side as he reawakened—strong and well or grievously, permanently injured.

xxxxxx

Arriving at the hospital, Sam went directly to the nurse's station in the ICU, and the doctor came to greet him moments later.

"Good morning, Agent Hanna."

"Good morning, Dr. Marchand. Thank you for calling me."

Marchand looked at Sam and smiled, "Oh, my colleagues, Dr. Perrin and Dr. Singh, made it very clear that calling you was not optional." He motioned down the corridor, "Let's go to the office."

When they entered, Marchand went behind the desk and sat while Sam took a seat directly across from him.

"Agent Hanna," Marchand began and Sam interrupted.

"Sam."

Marchand began again, "Sam, we're not ready to begin the procedure now, but I wanted to explain the possible outcomes and what Agent Callen may experience during the procedure and answer any questions you might have. This is the only time I have available, so I'm sorry to ask you to come in so many hours prior to the procedure itself."

"It's not a problem, doctor. I appreciate it."

Marchand continued, "People, in general, have a very superficial understanding of what it means to be in a coma or a comatose state. Have you ever known someone who's been in a coma and subsequently awakened from it?"

"A colleague of mine was in a coma for several weeks due to an injury she sustained while on a mission."

"And did she require physical therapy, weeks in rehabilitation, after she awoke from the coma?"

"She did," Sam admitted. "But she had sustained a spinal injury."

"And that was the significant factor in her need for physical therapy; however, I can say with almost 100% certainty that her comatose state was also a contributing factor in her need for physical therapy."

Sam absorbed what Marchand was telling him. "You're telling me that when Callen wakes up—even if he doesn't have severe brain damage—it's likely that he will need physical therapy or some form of rehabilitation?"

"Exactly. Agent Callen will most likely require some type of therapy: physical, speech, cognitive. It's not unusual for a formerly comatose patient to experience some balance and coordination problems for awhile, for instance."

"He has those problems already," Sam interjected.

Marchand couldn't suppress a momentary smile, but he continued his explanation of other potential outcomes. "It's also possible that Agent Callen may experience some short term changes in his emotional state."

"Such as?"

"Well, he might be irritable, become easily annoyed, or completely suppress his emotions."

Sam looked at Marchand without even the hint of a smile, "You're describing him on a good day."

Marchand let out a short laugh concealed in a cough, composed himself, and leaned forward. "You are a close friend of Agent Callen, Sam?"

"Yes. I'm his closest friend."

"Good," was all Marchand could muster as he sat back.

Sam spoke up before the doctor could continue, "I'm sorry. I'm worried." And it was obvious that Sam was wrestling with his emotions.

"I understand how difficult it is, Sam, which is why I wanted to provide as much information as I could about the possible outcomes."

"Is it possible that he may not need any rehabilitation or therapy when he awakens?"

"Yes, it is possible," Marchand admitted and continued, "but, I'm not aware of any case in which that has been true."

Both men sat in silence for several minutes while Sam took in this information. And then he realized that Marchand had not explained everything yet.

"I appreciate knowing what might happen, Dr. Marchand, but tell me what, if anything, Callen might experience during the process and how I can help."

Marchand shifted slightly in his chair. "To be absolutely honest, we don't know exactly what a comatose patient experiences during the process of waking up, but based on the information available and the memories of those who have gone through the process, the experiences are as individual as each patient is. When we monitor a comatose patient, we observe and record the vital signs, but we can't actually observe the mental state. The brain scan can tell us there is activity, but the specifics of the activity are unknown to us." He hesitated for such a long time, that Sam finally spoke up.

"Is the patient in any danger during this process?"

Marchand measured his words carefully, "Many patients speak of suffering from severe nightmares and emotional trauma as they move from a comatose to a conscious state. Sam, I have access to Agent Callen's complete medical history," he paused, "back to his childhood."

Sam's eyes remained on Marchand's face but his mind reached back to the experiences he and Callen had survived together and to the childhood experiences Callen had survived alone. Nightmares indeed.

Marchand waited until Sam refocused on the present and continued, "Given Agent Callen's personal history, it's quite possible—even highly probable—that he will experience some emotional trauma as he awakens, and how that might affect his recovery we just don't know."

"What can I do?"

With some reservation because Sam was so intimidating and masculine, Marchand said simply, "You can be with him, and as unmanly as it may sound, hold his hand, touch him, talk to him so that he knows he's not alone."

"I can do that," Sam replied without hesitation.

Mentally, Marchand sighed. "Then," he said as he stepped out from behind the desk, "I think we—and Agent Callen—are as ready as we can be. Do you have any questions for me?"

Sam was preparing to leave. "When will you begin the procedure?"

"We anticipate beginning at 5:00 pm, but that's always subject to the condition of our patient."

"You'll call me if anything changes?"

"Of course."

"Then," Sam said, "if I don't hear from you, I'll be back here at 4:30."

"That will be fine, Sam."

Sam put out his hand and Marchand gripped it firmly. "Thank you, doctor."

Marchand held onto his hand for a moment, "We'll do everything possible for Agent Callen, Sam."

Sam nodded and said, "I know." Then he turned and took the long walk down the corridor, his steps echoing under the bright fluorescent lights, and Marchand returned to his rounds.


	21. Chapter 21

_There are a lot of parts to this story, so it's taking some time to get everything in line for the awakening and the recovery. I appreciate your patience and your comments!_

Chapter 21

Before leaving the hospital, Sam checked in on Callen. The only noticeable sound in the room was the monitor, but when Sam stood next to Callen's bed, he could see his partner's gentle, regular breathing. The doctors had removed him from the ventilator several hours earlier in preparation for the awakening procedure and because all signs indicated that there was no danger of his breathing function shutting down. Sam watched him silently for a few minutes and then leaned down. He whispered, "I'm here for you, G. I always will be," and left.

Sam didn't go back to work when he left the hospital. He called Hetty and explained that he would be taking the rest of the day off and probably tomorrow. Awakening from a coma wasn't like flipping a light switch; it could take hours. Whatever Callen needed, Sam would be there and Hetty expected no less.

After calling Hetty and giving her the latest news, Sam drove over to Anna's to give her an update. He was going to leave out some of the specific details Dr. Marchand had shared with him: the worst possible outcomes and what Callen might experience during the process since Sam wasn't sure how much Callen had shared with Anna about his past. When he arrived, Arkady opened the door. He greeted Sam soberly, and Sam admitted to himself that Arkady looked even more tired and worn than he felt.

"Please come in, Sam," Arkady said and stepped aside so that Sam could enter.

Anna came to the door when she heard Sam's name. He could tell she probably hadn't slept at all the night before, but she made an effort to act as though she was doing alright.

"Can I get you some coffee, Sam?" she asked as she greeted him warmly.

"No, thank you, Anna," he replied and then they all made their way into the living room. Sam glanced at Arkady and then turned his attention to Anna. "I wanted to come by and let you know that I spoke to the doctor this morning and everything is a go for later today."

"That's good," Arkady said with some animation and smiled at Anna. She ignored him and focused on Sam.

"What did the doctor say about Callen's condition or what to expect when he wakes up?"

"To be honest, he said that every situation is as individual as the patient."

"Well," Arkady said looking from Sam to Anna, "we know that Callen is strong and a fighter."

Sam had not seen Arkady this worried since Anna had been kidnapped by Karpozev, and for the first time, he felt genuine friendship for him. Arkady might be the most annoying man he'd ever met, but his affection and concern for Callen were real. Sam smiled at him, "You're right about that, Arkady. He's both." He turned back to Anna, "I think his chances are good, Anna." Sam couldn't stay. It was hard to not tell her everything the doctor had shared with him because she made no effort to hide her worry, her fear, or her love for Callen, and when this was over, Sam still wanted her to be able to trust him—especially if she was going to be part of Callen's life. He made his way back to the front door. "I have to go, but I will call you when I have any more news."

"Sam, you'll call me before they start to wake Callen?" she asked in a voice that was almost a plea.

"Of course," he answered as he reached out and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "I'll call you right before."

"And if anything goes wrong?"

"Yes, if anything goes wrong—but I don't expect anything will."

"Thanks, Sam," she said as Arkady put his arm around her shoulders and she opened the door for Sam. Arkady held out his other hand to Sam who took it.

"Thank you, Sam," he said with feeling. "When Callen wakes up, tell him I will come and see him."

Sam looked at Anna and grinned, "That will help him recover quickly." Arkady looked at him slightly perplexed, but Sam continued, "He will be very happy to see you, Arkady." Arkady smiled broadly, and Sam left with Arkady still hugging Anna who didn't seem to mind his act of fatherly affection at all.

xxxxxx

There were hours to go before the procedure, but Sam wasn't going back to work, and he didn't want to go home, so he went to Venice. He didn't understand Callen's attraction to Venice. Callen said it stimulated him, but Sam thought he liked it because he could disappear into the crowd, become anonymous. Callen loved anonymity; he hated being the center of attention. Maybe, Sam reasoned, that was because when he was in foster homes, being the center of attention was the same as being a target. The more nobody noticed you, the safer you were. Whatever the reason, Callen always felt at home in Venice—despite his personal history with the place. As he walked along the boardwalk taking in the variety of sights and sounds, avoiding the skaters and bicyclists, and stopping now and then to check out some vintage merchandise or watch a street performer, Sam reflected on his partnership of more than ten years with G which, no matter what happened today, would not be ending anytime soon.

xxxxxx

Sam arrived at the hospital at 4:31 that afternoon. He had packed some protein bars, fruit, and bottles of water because he knew he might not be leaving Callen's room for hours once the procedure began. Before settling in, he had a few phone calls to make, so he stepped out to the waiting area.

"Aiden?"

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"Does something have to be up? Can't a dad call his kids just to see how they're doing?"

"Sure," Aiden laughed. "No law against that." Then his voice became more subdued. "We're both fine, really."

"You looking out for Kam?"

"Of course. If I wasn't, I know who would be on my case, and I wouldn't be fine then, would I?" Aiden said.

Even though Aiden had shown remarkable strength since Michelle's death, Sam worried about possible adverse effects that would manifest themselves as he grew older. But right now, he just had a message for them—and he had to lie. It wasn't the first time he'd had to lie to his children because of his work, but he hated it. And he was sure Aiden was old enough now to recognize his dad was lying when he did. "I'm not worried. I know your sister's in good hands."

"So, why _did_ you call, Dad?"

"I called to let you and Kam know that I'm going to be on an assignment for a few days, two or three probably, and I won't be available unless it's an emergency." Sam knew Aiden needed more details. "There's no danger; we're not even leaving town. We just won't have phone access."

"You and Uncle Callen?"

"Yes."

"Good," Aiden said, "he'll keep you out of trouble."

"Make sure," Sam instructed him, "you explain to your sister that I won't be in any danger. Ever. I don't want either of you to worry."

"Okay, I got it, Dad. I'll make sure Kam understands. We'll both be fine."

"If you do need to reach me for any reason—and I mean any reason, Aiden—call Miss Lange. She'll be able to get in touch with me. You have her number?"

"I do, but we'll be fine. Don't worry about us." In the background, Sam heard a chime. "Meal call. Say hi to Uncle Callen. Love you."

"Love you, too," Sam said as Aiden ended the call.

Sam also called Hetty and Anna just to let them know that everything was on schedule and that he'd call them as soon as there was any news. As he hung up from speaking with Anna, Callen's father entered the waiting area. Sam walked over and greeted him. When Sam asked him if he wanted to be in the room with Callen, he declined. He was content to stay in the waiting area.

Sam spoke with him a little longer and then returned to Callen's room. It was almost 5:00. When he entered the room, the doctor and nurse were already present and preparing a new IV for Callen. Sam took a seat quietly and waited.


	22. Chapter 22

This was a difficult chapter to write. I hope it reads well. Let me know what you think.

Chapter 22

 _Jason was letting him win again. They laughed. He kicked the bedroom door open. They smelled the whiskey, the beer. He grabbed him. He was smaller. His face was red, angry. Where was his money? His hands were big and rough. He slapped him hard. His nose started bleeding. Jason told him to stop. He threw him on the bed. No snot nosed kid was going to tell him what to do. He hit him, with his fist. Jason fell. He crawled under the bed. Jason couldn't get away. He hit him again and again and again. When he left, Jason didn't get up. He crawled out. He shook him. He yelled. He couldn't wake him up. He saw him drinking more whiskey. He wanted to burn it down, burn him down, but there were the girls. He watched him open the door. He didn't stop him. He was alone. He was 7._

Sam said his name again and again. "G. G, it's okay. You're okay. It's Sam. I'm here." Finally, the nightmare seemed to be over. Callen's heart rate had accelerated slightly, but now it decelerated and his breathing became normal. The nightmare had started with just a slight twitch. Sam noticed it and went to Callen immediately. Only his eyelids and head moved at first, just slightly. Then his hands twitched and convulsed. Sam grabbed one of his hands and held it firmly, but not tightly, and with his other hand he gently stroked Callen's forehead. He continued to say his name and talk calmly and soothingly. When Callen seemed to be resting peacefully again, Sam took a step back. Callen hadn't uttered a sound, so Sam could only imagine what he had been reliving. Sam had his own personal nightmares, but he imagined he had far fewer than his partner, and none of his nightmare experiences occurred until he was an adult.

 _He stood against the wall, his back to him and waited. The broom handle whistled as it hit him. It stung. Welts grew on his legs, his back. He refused to cry out. The broom handle hit him again and again. She tried to make him stop. He hit her. She cried. Blood started to run down his leg. He turned. He yanked it out of his hand. He hit him around his head. He couldn't stop. He couldn't see. He broke his nose. He broke the broom handle. She tried to stop him. She wasn't angry. They would take him away, but he didn't care. He dropped the handle and ran._

At the sound of Callen's voice, Sam leapt to his feet and was at his bed in seconds. It wasn't a word; it was a sound. Callen's eyelids were twitching and his head was almost whipping from side-to-side. Sam reached down and placed a hand so that he held Callen's head still. With his other hand he took hold of one of Callen's hands and held it. "You're safe, G. It's me, Sam. I'm here. You're safe. You're safe." The twitching stopped and his head relaxed. Sam felt his forehead. It was warm, but his hands were cold. Sam let go of his hand and placed it gently on the bed, and then he went back and took a swig from a water bottle. He stood watching and waiting for the next nightmare.

 _The sand was burning hot. He ran after Trish and Tom. They dug deep to reach the cool, damp sand—"sand hammocks." They helped him dig his deep. He lay down, closed his eyes, smiled. Trish sat on him, turned him over, laughed. He couldn't breathe. The sand stung his eyes, filled his nose and mouth. Trish pushed him down. Tom shoveled sand. His hammock filled. The sand choked him. He breathed and sucked in sand. He kicked. And then he heard that voice, familiar, kind. And the sand was swept away and he gulped in deep breaths of air._

"G, it's Sam. It's Sam. You're safe. You're safe. I've got you. I've got you."Sam was holding Callen's hand and gently stroking one of his arms. His nightmares were becoming more frequent and more intense. His heartbeat had accelerated again, and he was covered in sweat. Sam took a cloth, poured water on it, and gently wiped Callen's face. No nurses or doctors had come when these incidents occurred, so evidently they weren't dangerous to Callen's recovery, but they worried Sam. How much of these nightmares would Callen remember when he woke up? They were always in his mind, but he had pushed them back into the far recesses. Now, they were coming back, invading his psyche full blown, and he had no control, no ability to suppress them.

 _He hated school. Every school. He hated the classes, hated the teachers, hated his classmates. And he got in fights almost every day. Like today. The boy charged him. He stepped aside at the last minute and watched him smash into the fence. He tried to walk away, but they wouldn't let him. They tackled him. Destroyed his backpack. They kicked him. He felt a rib crack, his face scrape across the asphalt. He pulled in so they couldn't grab his arms and tucked his head and legs. And then he felt strong arms wrapping him, protecting him, and the familiar voice._

A nurse on night duty came in to make the scheduled check of Callen's vital signs. He checked his respiration, airway, pulse, blood pressure, pupil response, and pain response by pinching his earlobe. There was the slightest reaction this time. The nurse smiled and looked at Sam, "Did you see that movement?"

"Yes."

"That's a positive sign. It indicates that he's becoming more conscious."

"Do you have to hurt him?" Sam asked with some annoyance.

The nurse looked sympathetic. "A patient's reaction to pain is one of the major indicators of consciousness." He paused. "It's not actually too painful, but it does provide us with the information we need."

"I guess," Sam said with undisguised sarcasm, "a little bit of physical pain is nothing compared to the mental trauma he's going through." Sam immediately regretted lashing out. "I'm sorry. It's just hard to see him go through this."

"I understand, Agent Hanna," he said quietly. "The doctors have told us something of Agent Callen's personal history—not all of it—but enough to know that severe emotional distress would be a probable result as he regains consciousness." He started to leave, but turned back to Sam. "Please don't think that we're not aware of his episodes. We are and we are monitoring him closely. At this point, the best 'treatment' for those episodes is exactly what you're doing. We couldn't do as much for him as you are."

"Thank you. I appreciate all you're doing for him," Sam said.

The nurse smiled, "It's our job, Agent Hanna. We always want to do our best." Before he left, he asked Sam if he had eaten any dinner yet. When Sam told him he hadn't, the nurse said he would bring him back something. Sam tried to decline graciously, but the nurse assured him that their roast chicken and fresh steamed vegetables were some of the best in the city. Sam thanked him and then turned his attention back to his partner as the nurse took his leave.

 _They caught him in the shower, but he was older now. He'd learned how to fight, how to survive. He was tough, unforgiving. He kneed the first one in the groin. He crumpled. The second one he got in a headlock, punched his face, broke his nose. The blood gushed, splattering his body. The third one took him down. They wrestled on the wet tile. He bit him on the arm, punched him in the face. Callen slammed his face against the drain, chipped a tooth. He swung wildly, missed. Callen didn't. He felt bone on bone. Callen grabbed his clothes, left the water running. He escaped that night._

Sam watched the monitor as Callen's heartbeat accelerated to almost 120. He stroked his face, held his hand, and spoke to him in soothing tones again. And then Callen's eyes opened for a second, wild with fear. They looked at Sam but didn't see him. And then they shut. His heartbeat decelerated and his breathing slowed.

 _His body ached. Someone was yelling at him in Russian. The metal chair was hard and cold like the room, but he was sweating. His chest heaved as he gasped for air. Callen felt blow after blow after blow. He couldn't protect himself. The knife pierced his skin. He told them he didn't know. And then Callen heard the voice, quiet, calm, the voice he thought he knew, familiar. And then a hand pushed the knife away and soothed his broken body. He was exhausted._

Without warning, Callen had started speaking, Russian, Sam thought, but it was garbled, frantic. His body had begun to tense, he crossed his arms on his chest, and his heartbeat accelerated to 140. He was visibly shaking and the sweat glistened on his face. Sam grabbed the cloth and dampened it, drawing it gently across Callen's face while he talked to him and held one of his hands. Sam thought maybe this time he would respond to his name. "G. G, can you hear me? It's Sam, your partner, Sam. I'm here. You're safe. I've got you, G. I've got you." His heartbeat decelerated and the shaking stopped. His body went limp. And then he opened his eyes just barely and saw Sam.

"Sam?" he said before he lost consciousness.

 _He told Sam it was time to move. He could feel it. Sam laughed. He moved all the time. Some day. The sun was warm. He got out. There she was, the Russian girl. She smiled. Maybe she wasn't scared of him. Maybe he'd go for a swim in the ocean. There was still time. The van. Sam yelled his name. He felt the bullets rip through his body. His chest, his leg, his arm. He couldn't breathe. The pavement was so warm. More shots. Sam lifted him, cradled him. The sky was so blue. "I need an ambulance!"_

"Code blue, Room 321. Code blue, Room 321."


	23. Chapter 23

_Well, this is the end. I always hate coming to the end because I have so much fun writing these stories, but everything ends. I hope you enjoyed reading it-and enjoy this chapter. As always, I really enjoy your comments! Thanks! BTW, I've already started the sequel, so I hope you'll want to read about Callen's journey into fatherhood with Sam as his mentor. ;-)  
_

Chapter 23

"Agent Callen experienced what is known as stress cardiomyopathy or 'broken heart syndrome.'" Hetty and Sam, seated across from Dr. Marchand, cast a glance at each other but said nothing. Marchand continued, "Although the symptoms are similar to one, stress cardiomyopathy is not the same as cardiac arrest. Cardiac arrest results from blockage or blood clots of the arteries. Stress cardiomyopathy, on the other hand, most often results from intense, unexpected emotional or physical stress."

"I asked you, Doctor," Sam immediately and angrily interjected, "if Callen's nightmares posed any danger to him."

Hetty turned to him, "Mr. Hanna, please let Dr. Marchand finish."

Marchand deferred and acknowledged Sam's anger. "Yes, you did, Agent Hanna. I didn't mention stress cardiomyopathy because there's no way to medically predict who, what, and when it might occur. And," before Sam could say anything in response, "there's no medical way to prevent it."

"You said, Dr. Marchand," Hetty interposed, "that stress cardiomyopathy is not the same as cardiac arrest."

"I did."

"Would you please explain to us how it's different."

Marchand's shoulders relaxed noticeably, "That's the good news."

Hetty and Sam looked at one another again and waited.

xxxxxx

By the time Sam stepped into Callen's room almost 68 hours later, Anna, Arkady, Garrison, Hetty, and the entire team had all had brief visits with him. Sam wasn't going to stay long this time. He needed rest as much as Callen.

Callen greeted him with a smile, "I thought my partner would be the first one to come see me."

Sam laughed, "You mean you aren't sick of me, yet?"

Callen looked surprised, "Why would I be sick of you?"

Now it was Sam's turn to look surprised—and just a little crestfallen. "Seriously, G?"

Callen's expression of surprise didn't change. "Honestly, big guy, why would I be sick of you? You just got here."

"Well," Sam said with a shrug as he pulled a chair up to Callen's bed, "there's no reason you should be sick of me, G."

Once Sam was comfortably settled in his chair, he smiled that mischievous smile. "'Broken heart syndrome'? Has Anna been mean to you, G? I could have a talk with her."

Callen rolled his eyes, "I've heard all the 'broken heart' jokes I think I ever want to hear from Deeks already. In fact, that's about the only thing I heard from Deeks."

"Okay, okay," Sam said, his eyes still smiling. He turned quiet and just watched Callen for a moment before saying anything, and when he did, he spoke frankly, "I'm glad you're alright, G."

"You and me both," Callen replied with evident relief.

"No, I mean it," Sam said looking steadily at Callen. Callen waited. "I almost lost you, G. Twice."

"I know, Sam," G said and held Sam's gaze. "And I'm not sick of you."

Neither one spoke for several moments. Sam broke the silence. "You knew I was here?"

"I knew you were here, Sam." He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I know you probably stayed for hours."

"Almost forty-eight."

Callen looked surprised, "You must be exhausted."

"Just a little," he admitted and waited for Callen to continue.

"I don't remember everything, Sam, which is probably a good thing. But I remember some things." Callen broke off and studied the sheets on the bed. Sam could only imagine how difficult this was for Callen

"You don't need to go over it, G."

Callen raised a hand and waved off Sam's objections. "I want you to know, Sam, what it meant, hearing your voice when I needed to hear it, when I needed to know I was safe." He hesitated, looked at Sam quickly, almost with embarrassment, and then looked away. "And it wasn't just hearing your voice that helped."

Sam shifted in his chair and when he finally looked at Callen, Callen was still studying the sheets on the bed. Sam smiled, "I knew there would come a time when my parenting skills would prove valuable in our partnership."

"I am not one of your kids."

"No, you're not. Aiden and Kam are more disciplined," Sam replied. "And, they are much less likely to get into trouble."

Callen gave him a look of exasperation, "It's the job."

"Uh-huh. In case you've forgotten—due to your recent coma—you and I have the same job, but somehow I never seem to get into as much trouble as you do."

"Maybe," Callen said looking somewhat dejected and apologetic, "you should get another, more disciplined, less risk-prone partner. I'd understand. You need less stress in your life now. After all," and the sliver of a smile appeared on Callen's face, "a man your age has to take care of himself."

"And put you with a rookie? Hetty would never allow it; that would be a recipe for disaster."

"I could show him—or her—the ropes."

"If the ropes don't hang the two of you first."

"There you go, jinxing me again."

As the conversation stalled, a nurse entered to check Callen and Sam stood up to leave.

Callen turned to the nurse, "Can you give us a minute, please?"

The nurse smiled as she went to the door, "Only a minute, Agent Callen. You've had too many visitors today. You need to rest."

When Callen and Sam were alone again, Sam came over to the bed.

"I mean it, Sam. I don't know if I could have made it through this time without you."

"This time?"

"Any of the times, but this time especially."

"G, we're partners. Being there for each other is what partners do." His expression softened and he looked at Callen with undisguised affection. "One of the things I've recently learned firsthand, G, is that everyone—no matter their age, no matter if they're a man or a woman—needs comforting now and again. It's what keeps us all human, being able to give and being able to accept comfort."

The tears welled up in Callen's eyes, and he instinctively struggled to hold them back. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam put out his hand. Callen grasped it firmly and Sam let Callen pull him in close and give him a brief embrace. When he stood up to leave, Sam smiled at his partner, the tracks of a tear or two now evident on both their faces.

xxxxxx

Callen received a clean bill of health about two weeks after he was discharged from the hospital. Aside from a minor issue with physical balance and temporary loss of memory—Callen didn't remember much about the entire operation but was assured this memory would eventually return—Callen had suffered no major adverse effects from either the drug overdose or the medically-induced coma. And, as was expected and completely normal, he recovered fully from the stress cardiomyopathy incident, and there was little fear that he would suffer from such an episode again. Once he'd been cleared physically, like every other agent, Callen had to be cleared by Nate.

Even though he trusted Nate as much as he could trust a shrink, Callen never enjoyed it when he had to have an "official" session with him. Everyone, especially Nate, knew that these sessions wouldn't result in any major breakthroughs for Callen. After more than 40 years, Callen had developed an effective mechanism for dealing with his emotional issues, and Nate was not about to cause any disruption. There would be no point other than experimenting with new theories and practices, and Nate wasn't interested in experimenting on his fellow team members. The only thing Nate really wanted to learn in his meetings with Callen was whether or not Callen was still able to manage his personal traumas enough to be able to function well enough to not be a danger to himself or to the other members of his team. So far, Callen had always been able to do this. Nate never wanted to predict the possible outcome of any session, but when he met with Callen in a few days, he predicted that Callen would demonstrate the same ability to compartmentalize his emotions and function unencumbered by them as he had when Nate first met him.

When Callen arrived at OSP late the evening before his scheduled session with Nate to visit the firing range for some practice, he felt almost 100%. He hadn't returned to OSP until this night, and he enjoyed the solitude.

As he was emptying his tenth clip, the door opened and Sam entered. He leaned against the wall and watched his partner until he'd completed firing. Callen turned and Sam smiled, "Impressive, G. I thought you'd be rustier."

"I was, about six clips ago, but it's like riding a bike, I guess—you never really forget how."

"Only you would compare firing a pistol with something as innocent as riding a bike."

"Maybe I'm just a natural at both. Besides, riding a bike isn't always innocent. Remember that time Jasper almost ran you over? He could have caused some serious injury coming down that hill at almost 40 miles an hour."

"He would have suffered much more serious injuries than me if he'd hit me."

Callen took the empty clips and headed to the armory to clean his pistol. Sam followed.

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

"Went by your place to see how you were doing. Anna told me where you'd be." He watched his partner for a moment. "So, how are you doing, G?"

While they talked, Callen took apart and cleaned his pistol, seldom looking at Sam who watched his partner closely.

"I'm good, Sam. Really."

"When are you meeting with Nate?"

"Tomorrow."

"You ready for that?"

At that question, Callen stopped and looked at Sam. "Is anybody ready to meet with Nate?"

"I guess not. But do you think you're ready?"

"I'll know after tomorrow if I was ready." Callen smiled, "You miss me, don't you, Sam?"

Sam smiled but then grew serious, "Seeing Nate helped me, G. He's a good guy, and he's good at what he does."

"For a shrink."

"For a shrink," Sam acknowledged.

"I know he is. And I know he helped you, Sam. We've all kept him pretty busy the last few months."

Callen had finished cleaning his gun and put it away, but the two of them stayed and talked.

"Yea, we have," Sam agreed. "You know, I thought of quitting after Michelle's death." Callen waited for Sam to continue. "I told Aiden and Kam I was thinking of quitting. You know one of the questions Kam asked me?" Callen cocked his head but said nothing. "She asked, 'You don't want to be partners with Uncle Callen anymore?'"

Callen just smiled as Sam continued, "And then I realized that I wasn't going to let Tahir take anymore of my life. He'd taken Michelle—and I could never get her back—but I still had Aiden and Kam, and they are my life. I also realized that working at NCIS—with you and the rest of the team—is part of my life. And I wasn't going to give up any more of what made my life _my_ life. It's who I am, it's what we do."

Callen looked at Sam for quite some time, so long, in fact, that Sam started to get impatient, before he spoke. "I thought you were thinking about quitting, but I'm glad you didn't, Sam. It'd be a pain to train a new partner—and I doubt that I could ever find a partner to equal you." He reached out and offered his hand to Sam, and they embraced. When they separated, Callen looked at Sam with a glint in his eye and asked, "And if you had quit, Sam, who would I ask when I need parenting tips?"

Sam stared at Callen and then the import of what he had just said hit him, and he grabbed Callen by the shoulders. "You mean, there's going to be a lower case g?" Callen simply nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

"You're going to be Uncle Sam," and then he crinkled his brow. "Oh my god, I hope that doesn't mean that we'll have pictures of you in a striped coat, top hat, and with a white beard around the house." He looked at Sam, but Sam just smiled and smiled.

"I don't care how Little G draws me. I wouldn't quit now no matter what happens because, partner, I can't wait to see you go through the paces of fatherhood."

"I bet, but I'm relying on you to offer me some pointers, buddy. I mean, it's not as if I had any experience with a father when I was growing up. Or a mother."

Sam grew serious. "You know I'll offer you any advice you want, G, but you also know that you're not very willing to take any when it's offered."

"True, but you've never offered me advice on something that I've never had experience with. Fatherhood is different. For both of us."

"That's right. Arkady wasn't around for Anna, but she did have her mom." He reflected. "Who knows?"

"You, me, and Anna."

"Hetty? Garrison? Arkady?"

Callen shook his head, "Just us three."

Sam grew quiet and emotional, "Michelle would be thrilled for you and Anna, G." He mentally shook himself, "So, what do you want to know first?"

"Nothing yet. I have a few months to learn, but I have something for you."

"For me?"

"Well, not actually for you. It's more about you."

Sam looked decidedly confused.

"I know you don't think I'm a tattoo person, . . . "

Sam groaned, "G, . . . ."

Callen continued, ". . . but I disagree. I'm not a design tattoo person, granted, but there are all kinds of tattoos for all kinds of people, so I went the David Beckham route—at least one of the Beckham routes." He removed his shirt while Sam watched with more than a little trepidation. When Callen's shirt was off, Sam didn't notice a tattoo anywhere on his torso.

"You're not taking anything else off, are you?" Sam asked and Callen gave him a look. He looked at Callen and raised his hands in a question. Callen turned so that his left side faced Sam and then he lifted his left arm. There on the left side of his torso in a straight line under his arm, Sam saw a tattoo, no more than one inch in height, in the Cyrillic alphabet: Я в долгу Сэм моей жизни. It was very well done.

"That's actually pretty cool, G," Sam said as G pulled his shirt back on.

"I got a discount, too," he smiled mischievously. "I think the tattooist thought I was Russian mafia because I spoke Russian and have a few bullet scars."

"What does it say?"

"It says, 'I owe Sam my life.'" They stood in silence for a long time, and then Callen gathered up his things to leave.

As they left OSP together, Sam asked, "Have you celebrated yet?"

"Celebrated?"

"Your pending fatherhood."

"Not yet."

"I know the perfect place," Sam said with a grin and a wink as Callen joined him in the Challenger.

"Don't forget," Callen said as they drove away, "I'm meeting with Nate tomorrow. I don't want to be sloshed."


End file.
